#I actually love drawing orcs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowersandbigteeth · 3 months

Note

Orc boyfriend with what he thinks is a tiny, smol mate who's so smol, so delicate, so sweet... They're actually pretty firmly built for a human, while a bit short, along with being stubborn and sassy and ready to bite heads off for their adorable XL size boyfriend.

I've got so many orc stories going right now, but you know I'm not mad about it ^_^ I love Orcs <3 There are so many different ways to write them. I have another couple of Orc asks I'm working on, as well 🥵

Orc (Cedar) x thick f reader

Word Count: 5K

Tw: sfw orc fluff, some brief descriptions of battle, brief mention of sa, size difference

More monster fluff here

“Put the stick down, sugar. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You scoffed at the soldiers circling you, their eyes dark with lust.

“We just want to have some fun,” another said, his eyes drifting over your shapely hips. “Don’t you owe us a debt of gratitude for rescuing you?”

You squeezed the iron fire poker that you had gripped in your hand.

“Rescuing me? You didn’t get your rocks off burning down the damn village?”

“It was a strategic maneuver,” the leader of the armored men said with an oily smile. “We are here to liberate you.”

“By assaulting me?” you snapped.

There was not a doubt in your mind that the second you lowered your weapon, they were going to drag you into some dark corner and act out all of the sick thoughts they had echoed on their faces.

Your King’s soldiers weren’t good guys. When they heard there was an Orc camp nearby, they couldn’t be bothered to attack it directly. Instead, they burned down your village. They said it was to prevent them from resupplying.

It was true you did business with the Orcs, who were technically your enemy, but they never acted like enemies. While big and quite scary-looking, they paid in gold and were always polite to the women running the shops. You never felt the least bit unsafe alone with one, and occasionally, they’d help you out with things that needed done– fixing roofs and cartwheels. The men of the town had all been conscripted for the war, so it mostly the ladies keeping the village afloat. The soldiers had made a whole lot of children and the elderly homeless.

“Come on, sweetie, this game is getting tiresome.”

One of the soldiers dared to approach you, and you didn’t hesitate a second, swinging your poker and smacking him so hard in the head that his helmet crunched. He collapsed on the broken boards that had once been the floor of your little noodle shop.

“Now that’s a crime!” the leader barked.

He waved to his accomplices.

“Get in there and restrain her!” Their eyes fell on the collapsed soldier, and they looked between one another, trying to sort out who was next to get a whomping.

You flexed your wrist, preparing to swing at whoever came at you next, when you heard the heavy steps of an Orc approaching. The soldiers were too inexperienced to know what that sound meant. You’d heard them approach every day at dinner time for several months. It wasn’t until he was shouldering his way through what was left of your door that they took notice.

“The enemy approaches! Your swords!”

The Orc you knew as Ash, wrinkled his brow and let out a lilting call to gather his brethren. The ground rumbled as more heavy feet ran towards you.

Wood splintered, and what remained of the ceiling creaked as they tore the walls away, making more room for a fight.

Faced with five nine-foot Orc barbarians armed with axes almost as big as their bodies, the soldiers tried to run for it. You screamed as they threatened to trample you, trying to force their way through the back wall, but they never reached you.

The Orcs didn’t need to draw their weapons, grabbing every soldier and smacking them against the ground until they stopped moving—a gruesome way to die, but practical.

When the danger was crumpled into a wet gnarl of bones and metal, their eyes turned to you. Ash said something to his friends in their own language before he stomped across the room and plucked you up like a kitten, cradling you in his arm.

“Hey, What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Quiet, little one. You’ll give us away.”

You puckered your lips at him, annoyed, as if the stomping of five tons of muscle was quiet. When you tried to wave your poker at him, he plucked it out of your hand but didn’t drop it, tucking it instead in his belt. He said something else to his friends before turning to split away from them.

You had no reason to panic. The Orcs had never harmed you, but being taken away from the group put frightening thoughts in your head, and you instinctively started screaming.

The Orc sighed, sounding tired, when four more soldiers came skidding around a corner, swords in hand. You looked up at him apologetically, smacking your hand over your mouth to stay the scream that didn’t want to stop.

He set you on the roof of what was left of a building and pat you on the head, a gesture that you read as “stay” before pulling out his axe. You weren’t going anywhere, even if you wanted to. The drop was fifteen feet down, and the stairs were just charcoal at the base of the building.

“Attack!” the leader of the soldiers shouted, but their moves in their heavy metal armor were slow. Ash swung his arm in a sweeping stroke that sliced four of them in half where they stood. The other one, eyes wide with horror, turned tail and ran.

Replacing his axe, he picked you up again and headed into the woods. This time, you had enough sense to keep quiet.

You’d never been to the Orc camp before, but you heard it before you saw it. The brassy sound of a grinder and hammers on metal rang through the trees, blended with the shouts of the Orcs in their language. There were lots of huge tents and fires spotted here and there. The camp was buzzing with activity. Orcs ran around shouting at one another, some gathering weapons, some sending groups in the direction you came. You recognized many of them as some of your customers. They often came in groups and hauled away vats of the noodle stew you sold.

A few Orcs waved at Ash but didn’t pay you much mind as he carried you to the nicest-looking tent. It had a banner outside of it with a gold bear embroidered into the fabric. Ash set you on the ground at the door and handed you your poker before patting you on the back, indicating you should go in.

“What’s in there?” you asked.

He said something in Orcish that you didn’t understand and walked away. There were too many other giants around to attempt an escape, so you pulled aside the fur covering the door and peeked inside.

“Hello?”

Your question was returned with a deep voice, smooth as a glassy pond.

“Enter, little one.”

Taking a few steps inside, you were faced with what you could only describe as the most handsome Orc you’d ever seen. His skin was a deep olive, and his hair fell over his shoulder in a long, dark sheet with small braids here and there. His tusks were large, but they seemed only to highlight how well his lips were formed. His features were harsh and defined but not unattractive, with a straight nose and deep-set gold eyes. The only thing you could point out as a flaw was a dark scar from his forehead to the right corner of his jaw.

You assumed the Orcs were blunt tools, sprinting into battle with no real plan, but this one was sitting at a high table examining maps with a book in his hand.

“I’m…I’m not sure why I’m here,” you said, brandishing your poker, though you didn’t feel like you were in any particular danger.

“I asked Ash to fetch you,” he said without looking up. “You’re the noodle shop woman.”

“My name is (Y/N), not “noodle shop woman,” and I don’t have a shop anymore. The soldiers burned it.”

He put his book down and turned his gold eyes to you.

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes drifted over you before they settled on the poker you were still holding up.

“You were feeding most of the camp. If there’s no shop to visit, you can make noodles here.”

You blinked up at him.

“Oh…Am I your prisoner?”

He chuckled.

“If you’d like to go back to your people, I won’t stop you, but judging how they burned down your village without hesitation, I think you’re safer with us.”

You had to admit that made some sense, but you still weren’t buying it.

“I can’t stay here with you!”

He tipped his head, the corner of his lip twitching up slightly.

“Why is that, little one?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“First of all, I’m NOT little, and second, an Orc camp is no place for a lady.”

A shudder that had nothing to do with fear shot down your spine as his eyes moved over your body. He crossed the room, scooping you up, and setting you on his table. Your feet dangled far from the ground.

“What- What are you doing?” you snapped, waving your weapon at him.

“My neck was hurting from looking down at you. You’re very short.”

The sparkle in his eyes told you he was teasing you, which drew heat to your cheeks.

“Maybe compared to you. You’re unnecessarily large. What are you doing with all of that muscle? Are you going to arm wrestle your books?” you pouted, eyes drifting to the massive bicep peeking out of the fur vest he wore.

He laughed out loud, gracing you with a wide smile.

“You’ll fit right in here.”

You raised your nose at him, trying to look unconvinced.

“Where will I even sleep? All of your tents are big and drafty.”

“Since you’ve declared your intention to court me, I wouldn’t mind if you slept here.”

“Declared my intention to— Where did you get that idea?”

He flicked a fingertip at your poker.

“In the old days, Orc females came to their males' tent and threatened them into submission with their favorite weapon.”

Your cheeks burned like hot irons, and you almost dropped it.

“Well…I’m not trying to court you. It’s for protection.”

He snorted at you but nodded his head.

“If you say so, little one, but it will be much warmer in my tent if it’s drafts you’re worried about.”

“I don’t even know your name. Ash called you something in your language. I didn’t understand…”

He examined one of the feet you had dangling over the edge of his table. Compared to his big hand, it was tiny.

“Cautalin, it means something close to general in your language, but you can call me Cedar. That’s what my mother named me.”

Your eyes traveled over his barrel chest and thick arms.

“Seems about right,” you said, finally setting your poker down.

He picked it up, looked it over, and tested the weight in his hand.

“Not a bad choice,” he said. “Light but effective.”

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, feeling cheeky.

“Do you feel like submitting?”

You watched a flicker of heat ignite in his eyes, and he slowly set it down.

“Come on, let's get you to bed, killer.”

He picked you up again, walking you over to a large pallet covered in furs.

“This is your bed.”

He gave you another smile.

“We’re in the middle of a battle; I won't be sleeping tonight. It's all yours.”

Though you weren't quite sure about sleeping in his bed, weariness overtook you at the sight of the comfortable, cozy furs, and you crawled in, wrapping yourself up to your chin in blankets.

He put your poker next to you and blew out the candle, slipping out the front flap as you dozed.

—

You woke to yelling, but not the sound of battle. Crawling out of your furs, you picked up your poker and peeled out of the flap Cedar used as a door. Another Orc you didn't recognize was the one yelling, and Cedar had his arms crossed, looking bored.

Your eyes drifted to about twenty women, elderly, and children, cowering in the chilly morning air, their faces streaked with soot from the fire.

“They’re our enemies!” the strange Orc barked.

“Really, Asvoth? Are you really afraid of a handful of children and their mothers?”

“This is a war camp, not a nursery.”

“It's my camp, not yours. They stay.”

“I outrank you. I can take your command.”

Cedar snorted.

“Yet the King hasn't trusted you with a unit of your own. You're nothing more than an errand boy with a fancy title. Any of these children could take your job.”

Asvoth’s face turned a deep forest green from both embarrassment and indignation. He yanked the sword he wore on his back to his hand. Without thinking, you hopped in front of Cedar, waving your poker at the intruder. You had no idea why, a fact you only considered after you’d already put yourself in harm's way. Still, you'd made your move so the only thing to do was follow through.

“You heard Cedar! We’re not leaving! Get on if you know what's good for you!”

Asvoth sprung forward, dropping his sword toward your head. Your eyes squeezed shut, preparing for pain, but there was only the clang of metal. Opening one eye, you glanced up to see Cedar’s axe blocking the other Orc’s blow.

There was a moment when you thought Asvoth might overtake him, but Cedar’s muscles weren't all for show. He shoved the other Orc back, and he toppled over, landing on his butt in the dirt. His sword landed in front of the children with a CLANG.

“Woah!” the little ones cheered, circling around it like it was a strange animal.

A few of them tried to pick it up, but it was far too heavy, making their eyes pop even wider.

Cedar nodded at him, and a pair of Orcs from the camp dragged Asvoth up by the collar of his tunic, pushing him towards the forest.

“I'm reporting this!” He shouted over his shoulder as he stumbled towards the woods.

Cedar waved a hand at one of his Orcs, beckoning him closer.

“You and Orin follow him and make sure the King gets our side of the story, not his.”

When the situation seemed settled, Cedar looked down at you and patted your head.

“Thank you for your protection, little suitor,” he said with a smirk.

Your cheeks blew up in flames, but you puffed your chest and looked at the children watching Ash pick up the abandoned sword. They hopped around him like little bunnies, begging him to teach them to use it.

“I have no idea what you mean! I’m here to make noodles! Point me in the direction of my kitchen! These little mouths are probably hungry.”

He chuckled, but guided you with a large hand on your back to a large tent filled with whatever food supplies they had rescued from the village. You wrinkled your nose at the primitive workspace, but there were enough flour and eggs to work with. You were surprised to find someone had stuck in a lower table, perfect for your height. After washing your hands in a water basin, you got to cooking.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked Cedar, who had plopped down in a chair and was reading a book.

He smiled.

“Reading.”

You blinked at him, putting your floury fists on your hips. “Are you surveilling me? I’m not going to poison you all! I have to eat this too, you know.”

He tipped his head to the side, his gold eyes sparkling in the makeshift hearth.

“The sound of cooking is soothing. I liked to study in the kitchen while my mother cooked when I was a boy.”

You looked him up and down.

“I can’t imagine you as a child.”

You thought for a second, tapping your chin.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Orc child, actually.”

He looked back down at his book, shifting in his seat to get comfortable.

“You will,” he said as he flipped a page.

Your brow wrinkled at that nebulous statement, but you knew everyone was hungry after the long night, so you got back to work.

By midmorning, you had a stewpot big enough to feed an army filled with noodles, vegetables, and what little bit of venison the Orcs had been able to hunt between the battle.

“All done,” you said, clapping your hands and creating a puff of flour in the air.

Cedar got up and shouted something to his men, and two Orcs appeared to carry the big vat into the central circle so it could be served. You felt a sense of satisfaction when all the bowls were passed out and the children, tired humans, and bloodied Orcs were eating. The mothers spoke quietly between one another, while the children could hardly sit still, their big eyes following the Orcs every movement.

“Here.”

You looked up to find Cedar holding a bowl out to you. A grumbling stomach had you accepting it, and he patted the seat next to him for you to sit down. The two of you ate quietly for a moment before you asked him a question.

“What are you going to do with all of us?”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“Well, I mean when the battle is over. We have nowhere to go. Our town is destroyed.”

He looked at the children who, after scarfing down their bowls, were engaged in some game with Ash.

“I was hoping you would all return to our capitol city with us. That’s where we live when we’re not fighting.”

Your eyebrows jumped.

“To the Orc city? We’re humans. Don’t your people hate us?”

He shrugged.

“There are some weak minds who reveal their own fragility with their hate, but the rest of us like your kind. This whole war started because we wished to create allies amongst the humans.”

“What? The soldiers said you attacked!”

He chuckled.

“Your king has a very effective propaganda engine. That’s probably the only thing about him that is effective. We sent a delegation party to him to discuss our interest in mingling with you humans. You all are prolific; despite your size, you’re a sturdy bunch. We thought marriages would bolster our numbers and strengthen your stock. Your King attacked, and we were forced to defend ourselves. The force that attacked us was decimated, and he declared war.”

“You mean…you wish to mate with us?”

His eyes slid down to you, and he gave you a sharp nod.

“Is that so surprising?”

You thought about it for a moment.

“I don’t know…Maybe a little. You’re so strong. You’re not afraid we’ll diminish you?”

His thick hand cupped your chin and rubbed some flour away with his thumb. Your heart raced at his touch.

“Size is not what makes us strong. Our strength lies in our unbreakable bonds. Your King will be defeated, not because his forces are less than ours, but because he orders his men to betray his own people.”

He nodded towards the children, who were playing chicken fight on Ash and another Orc’s shoulders.

“They will remember it was men who burned down their village, stole their fathers from them, assaulted their mothers and Orcs who took them in, fed them, and helped them smile again.

“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed.

His smile widened.

“I will remember you took up arms to protect me against an enemy twice your size. You belong among the us.”

Suddenly the wool dress you wore was much too hot.

“I should go wash these before the next meal,” you squeaked, grabbing his empty bowl and scurrying away.

Once safe in the kitchen tent, you pressed your hand against your chest, trying to still your heart. Why did Cedar make you feel so fluttery? You’d never felt this way around anyone before. You usually kept to yourself and steered clear of romance. It had to be the battle, you decided. You were still hyped up from the night before. In a day or so, you were sure it would pass.

Dunking empty bowls in ice-cold river water helped cool your thoughts as you tried to focus on what to make for dinner. The Orcs stocks were pretty hefty, but they and the children ate a lot. You’d noticed many of the parents tipping some of their bowls into their little one’s, making sure they were fed properly in case the next meal didn’t come.

It saddened you it had to be this way. What horrible person decides to burn down their own citizens' village? Who was the King even protecting you from? Not the Orcs, that’s for sure.

A loud rabble outside dragged your attention away from the dishes, and you picked up your poker before peeking your head outside.

A few Orc scouts were speaking in rapid Orcish to Cedar. When they paused, his eyes immediately looked around for the children and frowned before he spoke to you all.

“The human King has sent reinforcements. They will close on our camp by nightfall.”

The mothers all gathered their children to their skirts, looking weary.

“Women and children to the kitchen tent! We will keep you safe, but you must stay hidden!”

You made way as a small stampede of humans rushed past you, many pushing their children to hide under the table.

“What’s happening?” You asked Cedar as people and Orcs rushed around.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, looking disturbed.

“Someone ran back to your King with a story that we’d kidnapped you, not taken you in from starving in a burnt-down village. We will win this fight, but then we will have to make the journey back to the capitol. They will keep attacking if they think you’re within their grasp. Do you think you can explain this to your people? We don’t intend to take anyone by force, but I wouldn’t trust the King’s soldiers.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”

You hurried back to the kitchen, where the humans were muttering to one another.

“Should we flee to the forest?” Isla, the former town candlemaker, asked. “Can we depend on the Orcs to protect us?”

Another woman scoffed.

“We can’t trust anyone. These Orcs are kind now, but they’ll sell us out at the drop of a hat.”

Linda, a quiet woman who worked as a weaver, whimpered.

“But we’ll starve in the forest alone. Word is the King’s men have raized every town for fifty miles!”

You inserted yourself into the conversation, holding up your hands.

“No one needs to escape to the woods. The Orcs are going to take us back to their capitol to keep us safe.”

Linda squeaked in horror.

“The Orc capitol?! Where they can enslave us?!”

“They have no plan to enslave you. Don’t you want your children to be safe? We will be safe behind their walls!”

“Or…when the King takes the city we’ll all be hung as traitors!”

“Shawna, don’t put that in her head. Linda, we’ll be fine. I trust Cedar.”

You paused on that thought, realizing not only was it true, it didn’t make any sense. You’d only just met him. Your conversation was interrupted by the shouting of men outside.

“We’ll talk about this later,” you hissed, “Here, take this.”

You armed the humans with whatever haphazard weapons you could find, mostly butcher knives and skillets.

Outside, you could hear the clang of weapons and the squelching sounds of metal piercing flesh.

“What's happening?” Linda asked, trying to get around you so she could peek out of the tent flap.

“Stay back!” You barked. “If they see us, we’re in trouble!”

You could tell she was losing it, hopping from one foot to another, her hands getting slippery on her knife.

“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to go with the Orcs. Even a human monster is better than them!”

Before you could grab her, she skipped through the doorway, running wildly into the fray. The other humans gathered around you, their opinions spilling out like loose marbles.

“What is she thinking?!”

“Linda, come back!”

“Let her go, she’s nuts.”

You clenched your jaw, squeezing your iron poker.

“She’s scared. I’ll go get her…you all stay put!”

Before anyone could stop you, you darted after her, trying to catch sight of her red skirt through the mess of armour-clad humans and massive Orcs. The King had sent a much larger force than the one that had burned down your village. The battle around you was brutal. You almost slipped on a puddle of blood, your eyes frantically searching for Linda.

You found her pointing her knife with shaking hands at a human soldier.

“What are you doing? I’m a human, too!”

“The King ordered you all dead!” he snarled, raising his sword at her. “No witnesses! Come on, do your duty to the kingdom, and die quietly!”

Panicking, you launched yourself at him, whacking him with your poker as you barreled into him. The two of you went down, metal clashing as you fell and dropped your weapons. Both of you scrabbled for purchase in the blood-soaked earth. You could hear Linda screeching beside you as you tried to overpower the soldier. His armor, now slick with mud, made it impossible to get a hold of him, and he triumphantly dragged himself to his sword, clumsily grabbing it by the blade and flinging it in your direction. You saw the metal flash in the firelight before pain exploded between your eyes, and your vision went black.

—

“Please tell me she’s not dead,” you heard Linda’s voice from far away.

Isla scoffed.

“You’d better hope she’s not, Linda. This is all your fault!”

“I'm sorry!” she simpered, “I made a mistake! I thought the soldiers were here to free us!”

“Free us from what? A good meal and a safe place to sleep?”

You dragged your eyelids open, vision blurry for a moment before it cleared.

“What…what happened?” you murmured.

“She’s awake!” Isla gasped.

You felt her cool hands against your cheek.

“Take it slow, here; have some water.”

She pushed a tin cup into your hands, and you wet your palette with a few sips. Looking around, you were surrounded by the humans, all looking very concerned.

“Is everyone okay?” you asked.

Isla smirked, and the other women tittered a bit.

“Thanks to you, I suppose. That chieftain or warlord or whatever saw you get knocked in the head and went berzerk. He killed most of the soldiers all by himself.”

Another woman poked her head out of the tent.

“She’s okay! You guys can untie him!”

“Untie who? Is the battle over?”

Isla nodded.

“Yeah, all the soldiers are dead. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up so we can move the camp before the King sends anymore. Can you believe he ordered them to kill us? I guess so he could claim the Orcs did it and get more support for the war.”

She smirked at you.

“And as for who's tied up, your Orc friend thought you were dead. The others had to tie him up so he wouldn’t go on a rampage. He was ready to storm the King’s stronghold! You ought to see the ropes they had to use…thick as your waist!”

You heard the roll of stomping feet, and Cedar burst through the tent flap. His hair was wild, and his tunic was red with blood. He fell to his knees in front of you, holding his hands as if he couldn’t decide if you were safe to touch.

“Are you okay?” he asked, carefully prodding the bandage you had wrapped around your head. “That monster didn’t do any permanent damage, did he?”

“She’ll have a scar,” Isla said, “but I think she’s fine.”

Cedar’s face lightened, pulling you towards him, his big arms wrapping around you.

“Thank the goddess,” he sighed with a heavy breath. “I thought they’d taken you from me.”

He cupped your cheeks between his palms when he finally let you go.

“You are so stupidly brave, little one,” he gasped, eyes wet. “You have more honor than your people deserve.”

Behind him, Isla waved the women out of the tent, leaving the two of you alone. Not used to so much intimate attention, your cheeks warmed, and you weren’t sure where to look.

“I just didn’t want Linda to get hurt,” you muttered.

He gave you an odd smile, scooping you out of the cot you’d woken up in.

“Once I get you to our home in the capitol, I’m going to have to keep you locked up for your own safety,” he said, patting your head.

You looked up at him from where you were tucked, leaning on his bicep.

“Our home?”

He grinned at you, counting on his fingers.

“First step to Orc courting: Threaten your desired with your weapon. Done. Step two: Allure them with your cooking skills, cooking or hunting something delicious. Done. And the final step: Display your honor through a grand act of bravery. Done! You’ve effectively and thoroughly seduced me, little one! All that’s left is to take you home!”

He tipped your chin up with one thick finger and dipped his head to press his lips against yours. Your whole body felt like it was made of butterflies, every nerve flickering with excitement. Despite being covered in blood and mud, his kiss tasted like honey and sage. It felt like a warm cup of tea on a chilly morning. Your eyelashes fluttered shut and you sank into his warmth, despite yourself, happy to be alive and in his arms.

“Oh!” you gasped as he straightened his neck.

Your mouth fell open, unsure what to say. Before you could think of anything, Cedar carried you out of the tent, shouting orders at his men to pack up the camp so you could leave for the capitol.

#monster x girl #orc x reader #monster x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #soft yandere #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster fluff #male yandere #yandere fluff #yandere romance #monster boyfriend #orc #orc romance

2K notes · View notes

thechekhov · 4 months

Text

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts

CH.31 (Dryad)

Marcille, your stick--I mean staff!

Sobbing, wheezing with laughter, crying. Boys........boys why are you like this.

IS THE PLOT GOING TO BE GETTING OUT OF THE DUNGEON NOW?

Did the orcs not point them in the right direction at least?!

Marcille, you look like shit. I guess you haven't recovered after that intense battle too well.... and this is bad news if you guys are now being herded into a labyrinth by that sorcerer.........

aww, come on. They're just a bunch of little guys! Look at em!

Lookit em.

MAKING THE WORGS WAVE THEIR PAWS GOODBYE NOOOO STOP IT THIS IS TOO MUCH

S-senshi..... Senshi.........do you think you're traveling with children? Senshi. Did you. Did you actually think you faced a red dragon with children at your side? Was that a logical thing you did? Was that really how you reasoned it out...?

Then again, I think Senshi MUST be older than all of them in comparison but still...........

Go, Chillchuck! I choose you!

My money is on the ghosts which are clearly numerous and common in this world.

👀

Oh?????

SENSHI, LET HIM LOOK!!!! DON'T BE A HOMOPHOBE!

Live slug Dryad reaction

Well now that seems extreme but I trust him.

So.... a cold...?

Oh for the love of--

You had me going there for a second.

I'll develop hayfever if it comes free with looking at ladies smooching all day, ffs. First world problems, guys,

Okay, on second thought, anthropomorphic allergens are kinda creepy.

Someone who's never read Dungeon meshi explain what's happening in this image.

Gotta say, improvised mastectomy was not on my bingo sheet.

I mean......NOW it is........

Their faces......they're so fucking tired of his shit.

........I........I'm with Marcille on this one............ ....please put those back.

Marcille and Essek would get along great.

That dryad was the one with the least amount of boobage, too. Trans rights, I guess.

Senshi draws the line at........fruit babies that don't yet look baby-like....? Curious.

And now we're back to smashing faces. What an excellent harvest of uncanny valley.

"I'll still eat it, though!" You know what that is? Growth.

C-can he... do that? Just learn magic without anything?

I mean, it's stupid to ask I guess. I know wizards exist. I guess I just thought this fantasy system required a knack for it?

What a big happy....... family.

Gods, the terror of having another adult try to babysplain sex to you. Every day Chillchuck wakes up.

#dungeon meshi quick reacts #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi liveblog #delicious in dungeon #chekhov reads dungeon meshi

255 notes · View notes

comicaurora · 9 months

Note

(sorry for the long ask)

So there's this thing? That's been kind of bothering me, I've noticed it in the shera remake but also other places, where all these faceless minions are just there to show how hard/easy it is for the protagonists to get rid of them.

There's a couple of things, but I think that it just boils down to that they're not treated as characters? The hero will push them into a volcano and celebrate, then get all conflicted when facing the villain captain puppy kicker because "if I kill/hurt you I'll be just as bad" and in the same shot there's a pile of downed henchmen. And I get that, because from a meta perspective it would be hard to animate several hundred or however many individual people all fighting, but it's just weird right? In the show the only people without helmets on 24/7 are the main cast and of course the Rogelio/Kyle/lonnie group. Which is Confusing?? Because it seems like there's only a few options, either every single other person likes wearing the helmets all the time with no breaks, or they're breaking dress code and getting away with it, or "cadets" means they're in training. And somehow way more competent than all the other trained soldiers. It's weird, and I'm not even fully sure how to describe it. Do you have any thoughts?

Faceless minions are a time-honored storytelling tradition that persist despite being slightly reality-breaking story convention because-

They make it very easy to choreograph cool-looking fights against a big pile of interchangeable bad guys

You only need as many extras as you'll be showing together in one shot, meaning you can imply a vast army of evil with only like five costumes/character models

They make it easier to pick out the heroes in group shots and fights

They provide contrast against the important villains with unique designs

Easy protagonist disguises for sneaking around in

This is pretty useful stuff, but it does all feed into the effect that armies of faceless minions are generally not composed of full-fledged characters. They're a pile of broadly interchangeable mooks. This is one of those things that's technically dubious from a realism standpoint, but I honestly don't think it's automatically a bad thing for a story to make it really easy to tell who's an important character and who's an interchangeable obstacle in their way.

This does get shaky when the characters start acting like that. To them, in the reality of their story, those mooks ARE real, dangerous people, and their facelessness doesn't detract from that. The protagonist's morality shouldn't depend on how important a character is to the plot or how unique their design is, and that character inconsistency is the more disruptive bit of writing. Mowing down minions by the truckload only to spare the big bad makes it feel like the main character is standing apart from their own story and making the kind of value judgment the audience is, and that's weird. It's not weird that the faceless minions exist, it's weird that the protagonist evidently doesn't see them as real people.

But that doesn't mean every stormtrooper or background orc or ninja needs their own unique design, name and backstory. Narrative conventions exist for a reason, and while I do love a setting that feels like it's absolutely full of unique main characters all living their own lives, it's absolutely not mandatory. Sometimes things in stories are made unrealistic so they don't undercut the impact of the story itself, whether that's simple theater sets that don't draw the eye away from the actors, unrealistic lighting so a movie viewer can actually see what's going on, song and dance numbers, flashy showstopping villains, or convenient armies of ninjas to take down with one punch each. Storytelling has its own tools.

#asks #writing stuff

296 notes · View notes

fantasy-anatomy-analyst · 2 months

Text

Bonus note relating to that fantasy culture post I reblogged.

You know what really helps build up fantasy cultures? Making them interact.

Here is my most extreme example: my orcs, descended from a species of pack-hunting wild boar type animals, and my centaurs, chalicotheres that evolved a very weirdly consistent form of chimeric twin body shape.

The ancestors of the orcs used to hunt the ancestors of the centaurs. They were basically the only major predator of that species. This began long long before either group could ever be considered "people" but only stopped after both groups evolved equal levels of sapience and had many violent conflicts over it.

The centaurs defended themselves more and more, the orcs got more clever with their hunting, and then at some point they were no longer animals but all people, and what was once a dynamic of predator and prey became a dynamic of enemies at war.

The orcs surrendered. They abandoned their ancestral lands, conceding to the centaurs. They lost a lot of their culture, most of their important heirlooms, because so much of their ancestral history was so deeply centered on following their migrating prey and treating them as a sacred animal and using their hides and bones.

But that prey is a people now, and it is so very obviously the wrong choice to cling to that old culture. They had to start over.

And the centaurs became an isolated people, keeping everyone out, orc or otherwise.

Generations later, can they ever reconcile their past? Can they draw a line between animal and people and forgive the morally neutral act of simple predators hunting simple prey? When did it cross that line? Can these two opposed groups become friendly, after all that happened?

And then their cultures actually have a lot of similarities that happened to come from different roots.

The orcs are warrior folk who live in family groups and practice ancestral veneration.

So are the centaurs.

But the orcs are like that because they're descended from pack-hunting predators, while the centaurs are like that because they were the migrating herds of prey trying to defend themselves.

By having both of these groups in the story, even if they're not entirely central to the plot, I've already created a dynamic that makes the whole world feel more alive and occupied and gives it a history beyond the main characters and their own lives.

Following the plot, only focusing on worldbuilding that is plot relevant, that's all well and good and I encourage it! You don't want your story to drown in your worldbuilding. But man, it is so much fun to add those extra details and create connections between your people groups that extend far beyond the actual plot and the main characters. I think it can really make the world more immersive.

Sometimes I read fantasy, and it feels like the worldbuilding is shallow and flat, only there if it serves the one major plot line. It's like the rest of the world doesn't even exist. And I get it, I understand the tight focus, I know why so many people only want to write the small handful of characters and only stick to details that are plot relevant.

I just also really really love stories where the world itself is full and alive and you can see where there could be many many more stories to tell beyond the limited perspectives of the main characters.

#writing advice #worldbuilding

117 notes · View notes

geezmarty · 7 months

Note

ooo what inspired your tav design? like did you go in with a specific character in mind, or did it come from playing around with the character maker?

Oh boy ok. You’re about to find out just how insane I get over RPG character creation. “marty you don’t have to disclose it” I can’t believe you guys are forcing me to do this.

SO, I actually started bg3 with another character entirely, a ghityanki bard, which I thought would be fun and for a bit it was! But I wasn’t feeling crazy about her and when I play an RPG I love to turn my PC into a proper OC I can be obsessed with, so I restarted the game and before I went to character creation I literally sat down with a sketchbook and started brainstorming.

I wanted my pc to have an aesthetic of her own separate from the main companions but I also wanted her to blend in with the rest of the cast, I went for dark urge bc I heard that it gives you a personal quest and I landed for half drow and wild magic sorcerer, which is another class no major companion has (and also, I’ve always wanted to play wild magic even in regular dnd and this was a nice excuse to!)

Her aesthetic pretty much came up as I was sketching her and thinking about all the info above, what could set her apart but still feel like she could blend in? And most importantly, what would be fun for ME to draw? And so I went for witchy goth woman and luckily the design I sketched was very easy to reproduce in the character creator - and the rest came up organically as I drew more of her.

(I also named her after my very first dnd character Brigha, a half orc warlock, and it’s only after I finalized her design that I realized I’d borrowed some elements from hers eheh)

Witch goth was especially fun to play with bc I feel like most companions have a goth vibe about them but we’re missing the mean, spooky, feminine witch archetype (yes, morrigan from dao was part of the inspiration I love my wife <3). You could argue that Gale sort of fills the witch role already but I feel like they stand very nicely at opposite ends of the witch spectrum which is also fun considering their wizard-sorcerer one sided animosity.

#I think the only thing I didn’t manage to land on with her #is that as the supposed protagonist she doesn’t really feel like the “leader” of the group much.#But I kind of like that cause it matches the vibe of an IRL d&d party #anyway ty for the question!! I love talking about this sort of thing

175 notes · View notes

creepychan08 · 1 year

Text

Yandere Thranduil x Reader

It wasn't supposed to end up like this. You heart's desire becoming a nightmare.

And now there's no way home.

"Thranduil, you can't keep me here. Sooner or later I must return home." You once again plead your case as Thranduil frowned and hold both your hands protectively. But lately it feels like his gentle touches were slowly turning like handcuffs chaining you to him, unable to escape his grasp.

"Meleth nin (My love) please, this is your home. Have I not treated you well? Tell me what more can I do to make you stay by my side?"

His grip tightened, not in a hurtful way, but just enough to prove his desperation for your continued presence in his kingdom.

"Its not that at all. You have been truly kind to me and for that I am eternally grateful. But I have my family waiting for me. I miss them Thranduil. Terribly." Your eyes glistened with unshed tears and his gaze softened, drawing you closer in an embrace. You welcomed the comfort he provided and lean your head almost close to his chest, the part you can only reach due to your unfortunate stature.

"Have you found some other way to return to your world?"

"How could I when you took away that book and refused to let me out of your kingdom?" The bitter tone of your voice breaks the moment of tranquility when you remembered it was him who didn't allow you to leave and travel to Rivendell to seek help from Gandalf.

Though your tone was bitter, you felt him relaxed more against your embrace as if relieved.

"You know there are threats coming from the orcs resurfacing in the forest. I can't very well allow my beloved to travel and place yourself in harm's way. No, you will stay here with me." His fingers slowly brush down your hair as you feel your anger boil inside.

"I will not allow you to keep me in here like a trophy! No more! I will go out and discover the way back- back to my real home- if you won't help me."

Thranduil grit his teeth in frustration as he roughly tilt your head up to look at him. His eyes fierce and burning as it stare straight to your soul and your composure faltered, realizing how large he is compared to you and the power he has to crush you any time.

"I will say it again. You won't leave my side forever. You are mine as I am yours."

A whimper unconsciously left your lips as you began to fear and tremble before him. The dominance he was radiating made you feel weak, unable to do anything but submit to his will.

Upon hearing that helpless sound, his seething expression was immediately wiped off, dark glint in his eyes returning to a soft crystal blue filled with worry and regret when he behold the terror he accidentally inflicted on his beloved.

"My starlight, I am so sorry. Please forgive this ignorant King from his careless actions. I did not mean to make you afraid of me. That was the last thing I ever wanted." The sorrow in his voice made you want to reach out and comfort him.

You remembered how it all started.

*Flashback*

Being a fan of The Hobbit trilogy movie, you were immediately captivated by the ElvenKing, Thranduil. The daily occurence in your life involves imagining random scenarios and plots with him and deeply wishing to somehow be transported in Middle Earth to meet him. And one day it did come true.

You have no idea of your last memory of how you came to this new world. Whether you were killed by a truck driver and get isekai'd, or if you were just dreaming or worse case in a coma, you have no idea how you are actually faring in the real world. But there was a portal which immediately closed as soon as your feet step into the grounds of the forest of Mirkwood.

Obviously you were taken by the patrolling group of elves and presented to Thranduil. It was not love at sight as you were already crushing on him way back on Earth but it sure did made your heart jumped with excitement as you eagerly and honestly answered each one of his questions.

You were detained in the dungeons for some time as the ElvenKing pondered on your statement to see if you were just lying to get yourself out of this mess. Perhaps it is dark magic then to how you were transported to this world? Are you a threat? But somewhere deep down in his cold heart, he could feel the sincerity radiating off you. And there was something else too- something foreign but pleasant that he felt when he first talked with you.

After careful consideration, Thranduil finally released you from prison and transferred you to a well-furnished room. He was still unsure of what to do with you. Strangely enough, the thought of assigning you to be a servant, a maid, cook, or a warrior didn't sit well with him so he decided to treat you as a guest and get to know you better.

As he did, he finds himself slowly falling for you. Unlike the other elleths (women elves), you possess kindness and genuine concern for other people. You interacted with his guards and other servants with much respect and he saw them slowly warming up to you. Everyday, he would look forward to seeing you first thing in the morning as your smile immediately brightens his day. And during the evening after he finish his work early, he would asks you to walk with him in the gardens.

It was no surprise when he ends up falling head over heels in love. He started properly courting you and sending expensive gifts everyday.

"You know you don't have to send me all these stuff, Thranduil. Its too expensive"

"Nonsense. I am the King and I can give you everything you deserve and more. Unless.. do you not like them? I can have another jewel be made to fit your taste-"

"No! No need, I really like this one. Thank you, Thranduil" You smiled at him gratefully and the corner of his lips lifted up as he stare at you.

"Anything for you, my starlight" He draws his arms open and gently pulled you to his embrace, his robe covering your form as you lean you head on his chest.

You wished those moments would have lasted more.

Thranduil was a gentle lover. Always kind. Always patient. Always caring towards you. He never once raised his voice at you and you greatly appreciated it. But as the days go by, you noticed him getting more possessive and obsessive over you.

"We were just talking! He is your guard long before I came here and he is just my friend" You defended yourself as Thranduil warned you against talking to one of his royal guards.

"I do not like the way he looks at you, meleth nin. You are mine, don't forget that. He should know his place."

"Everyone knows we are together so stop being suspicious of other elves! I am not fond of the way you're acting right now. I will leave you to cool your head first."

As you turn to leave, his arms reach out to wrap around your waist as he hug you from behind. His head bowed low so as to breath in the scent of your hair to calm him down.

"No, don't leave please. I am sorry, my love. I am just afraid of losing you."

You sighed, feeling your heart soften. You turn to face him again and saw the insecurities and doubt swirling in his eyes.

"Now what brought my King such worries? Haven't I told you I only have eyes for you? That my heart beats only for you?" You cup his cheek as he closed his eyes and lean towards your touch.

"I know and I believe you. Sometimes, I just can't help but fear that you'll find someone better than me. I can't live without you, YN"

"You'll always have me Thranduil. My heart belongs only to you." You reassured, hugging him tightly to show your devotion.

Maybe you shouldn't have promised that as months passed and you soon discover a way to open the portal again back to your real world while browsing the library. But you don't understand some of the text written as it was in Elvish language and from what you can read, it also needs the spells only casted by wizards.

"Thranduil, I finally found a way to return back to my world!" You excitedly said as you barge to his throne room, while carrying the book.

His eyes widened and he immediately walked down the stairs of his throne towards you.

"What did you say, my love?" The cutting edge of his tone failed to make its way to your ears as you were excitedly thinking of how soon you can probably go home once this works.

"I said I found a way to open the portal again to my world! But I need some help with the Elvish language and Gandalf as well to complete the steps here." You showed him the book and the pages where it was located.

He was quiet for a while and politely asked for the book. As you gave it to him, he immediately throws it to the ground and asked his servant to seal it in the forbidden section of the library.

"No! Why did you do that?!" You screamed, feeling betrayed by his action. You tried to get back the book but he tightly hold you against him before carrying you towards his bedroom as you continue to resist.

Once he locked the door, he put you down on his bed as you glare at him.

"How could you do that? That was my only way home!"

His eyes hardened, frown marring his features.

"Exactly. I won't have you leaving me alone here, YN. You promised that I'll always have you, didn't you? And I promised to be yours forever"

You frozed as you remember the promise you said to him months ago. You meant it. You did. But that was before you learned that there is still a way back to your real world after giving up for so long. However, you did promised him and you can't go back on your word.

Bowing your head in shame, you nodded. "Yes, I did. I remember my oath that day, Thranduil." A feeling of frustration and mixed feelings made its way to your heart.

"You know I love you. I do. I just miss my family so much. I wonder what they are doing in my world. I wonder if they are grieving over me or still patiently hoping for my return. Am I selfish, my love?" You looked up at him as tears stream down your cheeks.

Thranduil felt his heart clench as he saw your sorrow. He can't stand to see the anguish in your eyes as it overflows with your tears. He gathered you in his arms and let you cry against his shoulders.

"I'm here, meleth nin. I'm here. Please don't cry." He whispered comforting words and before long, you felt drowsy and fall asleep in his hold.

Thranduil carefully put you in the bed and covered you with blanket. He placed a kiss on your forehead before leaving the room.

From that day on, he decreed an order that you are not allowed to leave his kingdom and that anyone who try to help you escape will be executed.

*End of Flashback*

"You've changed Thranduil" You gaze at him with such disappointment that he falters for a moment.

"No, please don't say that meleth nin. Don't look at me like that. I love you. I can't let you out of my grasp. I can't let you go. Ever." He pulled you closer and tilted your chin so you were looking straight at him.

The sight made you tremble. His eyes which were once full of adoration and pure love for you were now filled with dark obsession.

"Resist me no more, my starlight. Stay here. I will take care of you. I will love and worship you forever."

He back you slowly into the bed and you didn't notice until you trip and lay sprawled against his bedsheets in a vulnerable state.

You tried to get up but he lightly pushed you down so he towers over you.

"No, no, I have to return home. I need to see my family again. I can still come back here Thranduil. I won't leave you forever." You tried to reassure your lover.

Shadows loomed in his face and when he finally look at you, something dark and dangerous radiated from his being.

You gasped, crawling away from him towards the center of the bed as he followed after you. You grab his pillow to defend yourself.

"Okay- stop. Don't get any closer, Thranduil. You're scaring me."

The blank look in his eyes shifted to that of a predator finally catching its prey as he reach you. A smile of dark insanity painted on his lips. He take hold of the pillow separating you two and throws it to the side.

"You know, I've always wanted to marry you, my starlight. In our culture there are two ways one can get married. First is by traditional exchange of vows and the other-" He paused, pushing you down once more as he hovered above you. "-is by being one in body, two souls bonded forever. If I may be honest, I much prefer the latter."

His fingers slowly slid down your body, touch as light as feather as it passes through your neck, the valley of your breast, down to your stomach and settling on your lower abdomen.

Your breath hitched as you watch him, goosebumps rising on you skin as you feel your heart thumping loudly.

"We will be one tonight, my love. And I will plant my seed inside your fertile womb. Since you miss your family so much, we will have one of our own- a much bigger family. We will have a dozen or more elflings running around the kingdom. And you will soon forget that silly ambition in your mind. I told you before. You won't leave me. Ever. For you are mine and I am yours."

With that he sealed his promise with a passionate kiss as he consume your being, leaving you breathless and gasping for more.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I didn't expect this oneshot to be longer than what I originally planned lol. Anyway, I've been obsessing over Thranduil for weeks now and I thought if he'd be the one going yandere for me, I would immediately give in 😂

But yeah unfortunately he's just a fictional character sooo! Anyway thanks for reading up this far.

Hope you have a great day and stay safe guys! :)))

619 notes · View notes

michaels-reality · 7 days

Text

Diversity talk around Dungeon meshi makes me feel insane because all that was done is drawing normal looking white people. I can count the people of color on one hand and most of them are ambiguously brown, and on the other hand I can count the fat characters and most of them are specific fantasy races.

Ryoko Kui has a remarkable art style and everyone is drawn with love and I really admire it, but I feel like it shouldn't be the pinnacle of diversity for some of you. Falin isn't fat, she's just a big normal looking lady. Laios also isn't fat, he just has a regular looking muscular build without the dehydration six pack. The fat characters we do see are dwarves and orcs, which seem to make it look like the only way you can be fat is to a specific fantasy race. That may sound like a reach and may actually be a reach, but it is a little sus to me </3.

Characters like leed, namari, and senshi mean a lot to me but I wish we saw more fat humans or elves or etc. I know Ryoko Kui does explore more body types for different races in the art books but I'm a little disappointed it wasn't in the actual manga.

Not to mention the lack of black people 😭 Like I'm usually not expecting to see black people in anime and manga, I know that I can't always be asking all that from this kind of stuff, but seeing Kui actually draw black people in some of her studies in the art books and not seeing them present in the manga made me a little sad 😭. Like the brown characters we do have are KiKi, KaKa, Thistle, Kabru, and Cithis (plus a few extras that show up for like 2 seconds). Most of them are ambiguous, talking about the elves. Like we have brown elves but also we have pitch black elves, that makes me think they are only brown cus they are dark elves.

People like to argue like "Oh but it's fantasy and these are fantasy races so what do you expect?" but I think there is something to be said how it's always white people in these fantasy settings and brown and black people taking a backseat. I love dungeon meshi, I really do, but it is in no way revolutionary, it is just the standard.

IN MY OPINION ANYWAYS!

#blah blah ramblings #dunmeshi #also when i say people of color im not talking about characters from the eastern region #they are people of color but it is the norm for a japanese author of a japanese manga to write characters based of their japanese culture #so that doesnt really apply here </3 #i really love how ryoko kui adds elements of japanese culture all through out the story and characters though #its really good

59 notes · View notes

hirazuki · 1 year

Text

Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep And carry you down into sleep, Child, the darkness will rise from the deep And carry you down into sleep. (Loyalty loyalty loyalty loyalty Loyalty loyalty loyalty only to me.) -- Mordred's Lullaby

Personal preferred interpretation of *gestures to everything* under the cut! Warning for blatant and shameless conflation of multiple versions of the text with pure, self-indulgent headcanons.

I've gone back and forth on this a lot, but I think I've finally settled on preferring Eol to be both a Dark Elf (i.e. never went to Aman) and a "darkened elf" (i.e. former thrall of Angband/corrupted by Melkor). I know Tolkien changed his mind on both of these later, but I don't find it repetitive at all to have Maeglin also suffer the same fate; I think the cycle is meaningful and adds another layer of complexity to these characters. Also, it would give Eol's "ill at ease" within Melian's girdle and seeking to stay away additional meaning, making it a physical consequence of his circumstances and not only a predilection of his personality. Idk, the more layers and reasons something has behind it, the more enjoyment I draw from it :)

I do like Eol being Sindar and Thingol's kin, but also more alike in spirit and behavior to the Avari than anything else. Witch of the Wilds aesthetic, and more in tune with nature and the land than the Sindar in Doriath. He and Maeglin have always given me a Morgana and Mordred vibe. (fun fact: the mirror is supposed to be obsidian, which is used for scrying.)

He truly loved his son, and his relationship with Maeglin was no more and no less positive/negative than your average father-son relationship -- some minor disagreements as any parent and child are bound to have -- until Maeglin started expressing a desire to see the Noldor; and it was all downhill from there. He still loved his son, however, despite everything, and his attempt to choose death over Gondolin for him was done out of love as well. Perhaps not a healthy love, but a genuine one all the same.

Eol being a darkened elf + Maeglin being born in Beleriand + the "Melkor ingredient" present in all matter outside of the Blessed Realm = a compounded (x3) tendency towards Melkor within Maeglin's spirit that was there since he was conceived. If everyone who has a body that is nourished by Arda (outside of Aman) has an inclination towards Melkor that they can't be free of in their incarnate forms, how much stronger might that be if one of your parents is a former thrall who -- going off of his behavior and tendencies -- still bears the marks of that bond? I like to think that the way Melkor affects his thralls can carry down genetically, even for elves that remain elves and weren't turned into orcs.

I personally prefer Maeglin to not be under an enchantment as a way to explain why he betrayed Gondolin -- I like him being responsible for his own actions! Even if he also never had a chance and was doomed from before he was born. I like the interplay of those two concepts and generally don't find them mutually exclusive -- but I do love the idea of compulsion. Of his pre-existing link to Melkor through Eol and through Arda being used (I prefer this to be Mairon's work, but it certainly can be done by Melkor instead) to sway him. Like, not Mairon actually spelling him and making him not be in control of his body or not being able to warn people in Gondolin because his speech is bound, etc., but like. Mairon slipping certain elements into the fabric of his voice -- he is Ainur; underscoring his speech with Music is no big deal -- to manipulate that Melkor ingredient within Maeglin and make him be more receptive. Compliant. Add to that some carefully crafted understanding as one talented smith who knows what it is like to feel ill-suited to his surroundings to another, a little bribery, and, of course, the ever-present and very real threat of torture -- in delicately balanced respective quantities -- and done.

This is totally entirely self-indulgent headcanon territory here, especially since Mairon is never actually present for Maeglin's imprisonment in any version of the text (to my knowledge) BUT: I like to think that, just as with Maedhros in my headcanons, Mairon formed a kind of reluctant attachment to Maeglin. But whereas with Maedhros it was more of an equal footing type of thing, a grudging acknowledgement of a worthy opponent being cut from the same cloth, with Maeglin it's more of a foster situation. Like: "Here is this very valuable prisoner who we can work with, who -- with a only a small amount of effort -- is amenable to working together and he's the son of a former thrall so there's already a connection there and, oh, he's also a smith? Oh, he's actually pretty good. Wait, he's only 189 years old, idk because I've never cared much for elves but isn't that ridiculously young wtf, he's clearly ambitious and reeling for approval and acknowledgement and will easily take to a guiding hand. Well, there's no one else around but me, I guess I'll take one for the team and the war effort and all that" *accidentally transfers all the instructing instincts he possesses that had previously gone to his wolves now all long dead, he doesn't keep wolves anymore since losing Tol-in-Guarhoth, it's too painful to this strange elf* Again, not healthy, but complicated and messy and invested.

... I did not mean to make it all about Mairon again lmao I am so sorry XD

I'm sure I'll have additional thoughts as I keep re-reading the Silmarillion, or my opinions/preferences may somewhat alter (I still have to sit down and read HoME and Nature of Middle Earth properly, I've only read snippets), but. an overwhelming number of you voted that you enjoyed reading stuff like this so. There you go. This is where I'm currently at lol.

#maeglin #eol #mairon #sauron #silmarillion #tolkien #my art #don't mind me i've just been plagued by a case of The Thoughts™#i'm a big fan of the mix-and-match/create-your-own approach to Legendarium content if you couldn't tell lmao #i mean if we're going to be given numerous variants and alternate versions. i'm clearly going to go with the angstiest combination possible #... and then proceed to spiral wayyyyyyyy off the deep end from there #XDD #silm #silm musings #hira draws tolkien

212 notes · View notes

ass-deep-in-demons · 4 months

Text

Fandom : Lord of the Rings

Starring: Boromir + friends & family,

Tropes: character study, prequel, love letter to the canon, adventure

Rating: T+

Chapter Length: ~10k

Author's Note: This mini-series is... a pilot? a prologue? to my AU Of Wandering Birds, but generally it functions as a standalone. I wrote it because I love Boromir and I want him to have a life. Also, I love Minas Tirith and I will be moving there next summer.

✦ Chapter 2 ✦

… in which Boromir defends the Osgiliath Bridge, and we all know how it ends.

[AO3] [masterpost]

[previous chapter]

Osgiliath, 29th of Lótessë 2018 TA

Boromir had never thought much about how the afterlife might look like. Whenever someone mentioned to him the concept of the passage of souls, he would imagine something akin to Osgiliath as a place for the eternal roaming of lost spirits.

The once splendid Ogiliath was now a labyrinth of crumbling white marble, haunted by wild cats and birds of prey. The walls were often clad in swirling wispy strands of mist wafting from the Great River.

From his vantage point, atop one of the few still standing towers on the Eastern Bank, Boromir could almost see the spirits of his soldiers roaming the shadowed stone corridors. Many of his men had fallen defending these very walls over the last score of months. And still, it all seemed to have been in vain. No matter how many orcish camps Boromir's troops had destroyed, no matter how many Haradrim convoys Faramir's Rangers had hijacked, the Enemy did manage to encircle Osgiliath at last, and now they were going to have to fight the Shadow here, in the City, to keep control over the Great Bridge.

Presently, the Gondorian army had full control of Osgiliath, however, numerous orc encampments were scattered on the surrounding grounds, and more fiends were drawing near to the City. Boromir could see the Enemy’s commandos approaching the white walls and seeking entrance, causing skirmishes. For now, Gondor’s troops were doing an admirable job at holding them off, under the command of Angbor, a mighty warrior from Lamedon.

"Still no sight of Captain Faramir?" a welcome, friendly voice inquired, breaking Boromir's morose musings.

"I'm not expecting him to be back yet. He is bound to take longer," said Boromir, affecting composure.

"I am sure you're right," Derufin said, as he joined Boromir on the vantage point.

Faramir had ridden out at first light, with a dozen of his men, when the orcs were commencing the assault on the ruined City. There remained a Ranger encampment in South Ithilien, and Faramir went to evacuate them. Boromir's present task was to keep the Enemy out of the ruined City long enough to allow the Rangers to escape before the Bridge would be overrun.

Except the Bridge will hold, Boromir firmly reassured himself . He had actually argued this very point with Faramir last night. Faramir believed the City might very well fall, and that the Gondorian army should be prepared for evacuation further West, to Causeway Forts. This is why Faramir had insisted on rescuing the Ranger Camp in South Ithilien - he thought they might be permanently cut out from their main forces after the lost battle. Boromir listened to his brother's plight and allowed this rescue mission, albeit with a heavy heart. He had also ordered the moving of the wounded and partial evacuation of stocks and equipment to the Causeway Forts. It would be unwise to ignore Faramir’s advice altogether, and they had to be ready for every opportunity.

However, privately Boromir still believed Osgiliath would hold. He had promised his Father, after all. With the crumbling outer fortifications it was impossible to keep the orc bands outside the City for long, that was true. The plan was to hold them at bay only long enough to let Faramir's men retreat through the Bridge, then lure them into the City. Boromir was prepared to let them in and then fight them on the ancient streets, among the crumbling white walls and rubble. The labyrinth-like grounds would work to Gondor’s advantage. Boromir had fortified and manned a few strongholds inside the City: the old Garrison, the Western Bridge Towers, and the Arsenal, and also prepared a few nasty surprises for the Enemy. This way, Mordor’s advantage due to greater numbers could be countered, as the ambushes that the Gondorians had set up would allow them to eliminate larger groups of foes at once. They could trap the orcs inside and finish them off, hopefully gaining a few more months until the next assault, and complete the reconstruction of Rammas Echor on time.

"My men are in positions,” Derufin reported. “Captain Aglahad and Sergeant Hirgon are on the Western Bank, supervising the setting of our traps. Master Zbylut and the pioneers are still fortifying the fords.”

The fords were in truth what it was all about. Osgiliath was the only crossing point on Anduin for many miles North and South. There were numerous fords in the City and the Enemy could use them to move an army, but Boromir’s men have rendered the fords unpassable with barricades. To cross through them, the Enemy would need to first capture the entire City and dismantle the blockades. The only remaining link between Western and Eastern Osgiliath was the massive wooden Bridge.

“I thank you, friend,” said Boromir. Truly both his brother and Derufin had been invaluable in their help with all of the war effort that had led to this point.

“If I die today, my chief regret will be never having written to Lady Morwen,” Derufin said, his cheerfulness belying his morbid words. “If we live through this day and I still won’t write to her, yours is the duty to smack me.”

“I will smack you right now, for prattling about maids when we are about to fight for our Kingdom,” said Boromir.

“Oh, loosen up, will you? Everything is in order, Boromir. Your plan will work. You are entirely too serious, and it would do you good if you, too, had a lass at home to think about.” Derufin blabbed and Boromir opened his mouth to retort, annoyed, but Derufin wouldn’t let him. “Do not try to counter me, I’m right. Even your Lord Father would say I’m right.”

Boromir sighed.

“It is the thoughts of Lord Steward that are the cause for my mood. I have made an oath to him that I will not let the Enemy have the Great Bridge. It is either victory or death for me today.”

Derufin snorted.

“That is the most laughable thing you have ever said in my presence, Boromir, and I’ve heard you compose poetry for the late Princess,” his friend commented dryly.

Boromir felt a surge of bitterness.

“Do not be mentioning the Princess now! I am in earnest! Either the Bridge holds or I die defending it. My honour demands it.”

“Damn you, Boromir! Your honour demands that you serve your liege the Steward, and you will be of no use to him dead,” Derufin chastised. “If things go badly, we will retreat to fight another day. I will personally drag you to the Causeway Forts, and I know Faramir will assist me. And the Lord your Father will thank me profusely, and decorate me!” Derufin sighed. “You will not escape this war so easily, so do not look to die a hero. Instead, think of your men, and what you owe to them.”

Boromir felt his face and neck go red with shame. Derufin was of course right. What am I, a lad of twelve? he thought. To be thinking of my wounded pride, to be jumping onto my Enemy’s sword, when my men would be left leaderless, at Mordor’s mercy. He solemnly vowed to himself that he would not be courting death on this day, and would not accept his own demise so readily as that.

But neither could he suffer to break the oath he had given to his Lord. I cannot lose Osgiliath and I cannot die today, and so that leaves only one route open.

“Then we must make sure this day is ours, no matter the cost,” said Boromir, affecting a rueful smile for the sake of his friend.

“And that is the Boromir of Gondor I know and love,” Derufin exclaimed and clasped his shoulder. “When this thrice accursed pile of crumbling stone is secure again, we shall find you a pretty lady to pine after. That will cure you of all your foolish notions of heroism right away.”

Boromir groaned.

“Must that you are in league with my Lord Father to speak so,” he complained. “I do not see you making much progress in the way of…”

“Boromir!” Derufin interrupted him. “Look there! It is Faramir’s Rangers!”

Boromir snapped his head towards the East and squinted. He could not see as far as his eagle-eyed friend the archer, but he did notice a small blot of green moving on the horizon. He immediately felt relieved. Soon Faramir would be safe again on the Western Bank, helping with the evacuation. And yet… Something else caught his eye… Something bigger, vaster, a crawling ribbon of black, that was moving behind the blot of colour they had earlier identified as Faramir’s company.

“What is that, behind the Rangers?” asked Derufin dumbfounded, and Boromir felt the hairs on his neck rise to attention. He knew the answer, and dreaded it.

“That, my friend, is a Haradrim army,” he said. “One we cannot hope to hold at bay.”

“But how…?” Derufin asked the very question that was on Boromir’s mind right then. He had received no intel about this army. The Haradrim could have hidden from Gondorian scouting teams, but they could not hide from the Lord Steward, for Lord Steward saw all… Or did he? How had they missed an entire army?

“Some foul sorcery of the Enemy, no doubt,” Boromir said bitterly. “Come! We must go down and confer with the others. We cannot hope to contain them in the City, they are too many!”

They ran down the tower stairs, mouthing quiet curses. Boromir halted near the end of the staircase, because there he spotted Huor, his young Squire, sitting on the bottom step. The boy rose up quickly once he saw his Lord.

“Captain-General!” the boy saluted, but Boromir waved him off. He had given in to the boy’s pleadings and allowed him to tag along for this campaign, not predicting that the situation could grow so dire. Now he cursed his lack of proper caution.

“Huor, you are relieved from duty, effective immediately!” he bellowed.

The boy gasped.

“But, my Lord! How…” Huor cried with the expression of utter betrayal.

“No buts, lad! This City is about to become a bloodbath, and you don't belong anywherenear it. Cross the Bridge, leave Osgiliath with the wounded and await me in Causeway Forts,” Boromir gave his orders in passing and did not even stop to see if the boy listened. “Sound the alarm!” he shouted at the nearby Sergeant. Boromir was already entering his battle frenzy, and the soldiers around him scrambled to carry out his orders. “And fetch me Captain Aglahad. Where is the Baron with our cavalry?”

“Here am I, Lord” answered Baron Hallas. The Baron and his Knights havd been stationed on the Eastern Bank in an event an operation on the field outside was needed. An event such as this.

“I need you to ride out with your Knights and secure a safe passage for the returning Rangers, Ser Hallas. They have an entire army of the Southrons on their backs,” Boromir said, and the Baron’s eyes widened in shock. “The Rangers are mounted and should arrive here soon, but they will have a hard time passing through the surrounding fields with the orc commandos pressing in on us,” Boromir said. “Bring them to safety, and then lead them through the Bridge.”

“Aye, Lord,” said Baron Hallas, and signalled to his Knights.

"Come, Derufin!" said Boromir, as he trotted towards the battlements, where the sounds of skirmish were coming from. "Let us find Captain Angbor and plan our defence."

Ser Angbor of Lamedon was Boromir’s senior by some ten years. During Boromir’s youth Angbor was considered the finest warrior of the Realm. Boromir had always looked up to the Lamedonian for his legendary fearlessness and battle prowess. Now Boromir was the commanding officer, and a seasoned warrior in his own right, but he still considered it an honour to fight alongside Ser Angbor. The Lamedonian was in command of the 2nd Company of Heavy Infantry.

They found Ser Angbor on the battlements atop Osgiliath’s Eastern Gate, already looking battle-worn, his armour soiled with black orcish ichor. The Gate was barricaded and manned with heavy-plated soldiers, to whom Angbor was bellowing commands. A division of Derufin’s bowmen assisted with the defence. The main problem with Osgiliath fortifications was that they were crumbling, and the outer wall had gaps in it. Gaps that required barricading, and now had to be defended, as the orcish commandos were constantly trying to get in through them.

“Captain-General!” Angbor saluted when he saw Boromir and Derufin ascend the battlements. “Are you seeing this? A whole army of blasted Southrons! Out of thin air no less!”

The men all looked to the East. The swaths of land below Ephel Duath were blackened with columns of marching Haradrim, and the fields surrounding Osgiliath were swarming with orc bands. Boromir’s heart rejoiced as he saw the Company of Rangers on horseback, approaching rapidly. He could see Faramir leading them, hacking at the monsters with broad slashes of his sword. Boromir’s stomach did a flip when he saw his brother deflect an arrow with his buckler. Valar preserve Faramir , he prayed. Near the battlements, the knight cavalry under Baron Hallas’ command was doing an admirable job at clearing a passage for the Rangers. Hopefully both companies would soon return to the safety of one of the sally gates.

Easy it is for our mounted knights to cleave the orc commando, for the monsters are savage, poorly equipped and undrilled, Boromir thought bitterly. The Enemy has only sent them to annoy us and wear down our defences. They are but a starter, and the main course is about to be served. Once again he looked worriedly at the marching army of Harad, which was making slow but steady progress across the plains. He could make out their banners, which appeared but blots of red over the troops from the distance.

“We need to plan an evacuation,” said Derufin.

“Aye, and then what?” Ser Angbor asked and spat over the parapet angrily. An arrow missed his head by an inch, but the warrior did not even flinch. “We retreat to the Causeway Forts, they take Osgiliath, they dismantle the barricades on the fords and then their entire army can cross Anduin freely.”

“Well, what choice do we have?!” Derufin cried. “They’re too many! They will paint this pile of stones red with our blood if we stay here!”

“What choice indeed?” said Angbor and looked to Boromir.

They were in fact both looking at Boromir, expecting an answer from him. An answer he did not have. The situation seemed impossible, but he knew he could not show weakness at that moment. If he wavered now, he would seal their doom surer than any Haradrim army ever could.

“I say the Enemy is not yet upon us,” he said, forcing his face into stillness, and his voice into calm assuredness. ”We yet have some time left. We wait for Faramir and Hallas, and then we confer about…”

“We confer about what?” Faramir’s voice came from behind and the three men turned to face him. “What will talking accomplish, when we are about to be slaughtered?!” Faramir ascended the battlement, accompanied by Captain Aglahad and Sergeant Hirgon. “I beg of you, Captain-General, prolong this madness no further. Let us retreat to Causeway Forts, like we’ve discussed, and save what life we yet can.” Boromir could see his brother’s face was determined, his leathers splashed with ichor, hair tangled by the wind from his wild ride with the Rangers. He had rarely seen Faramir in such a frenzy.

“This will not solve our problems!” Angbor countered. “If we retreat now, we’ll have to face the same army the day after tomorrow, only in the Causeway Forts, and our position will not be better, then! Need I remind you that the Rammas is still incomplete? There are farmers toiling on the Pelennor Fields! Crops growing! If we want to save lives, we’ll have to fight today, or never.”

“Oh, yes, better to have all our forces anni…” Faramir started, but Boromir cut him off mid sentence.

“Enough. We will not squabble,” he said, with all his Captain-General’s authority he could muster. “Ser Angbor, you will continue to defend the Gate, for now. Captain Aglahad, what is the situation on the Western Bank?”

Aglahad, who was pale and sweating, and catching his breath, no doubt after running the entire length of Osgiliath to answer Boromir’s summons, swallowed visibly but managed to gather his wits.

“The 1st Company of heavy plates and the 3rd’s lancers await your orders in the Garrison, Sir!” he reported. “And I still have two companies of skirmishers that have yet to see battle today. They are manning the traps, like you’ve ordered, with Captain Derufin’s archers.”

“I’m afraid the traps won’t be of much help, when the Haradrim get here,” said Boromir. “Once they start passing the Bridge there will be too many to take down.” He looked at his most trusted lieutenants, and words failed him. He did not know what to do. Do not show weakness, he told himself. You have to be strong for their sake. They deserve to die knowing that their leader held faith, and take some last solace from that at least. “I need a moment alone to think on what to do next,” he proclaimed. “Until I’m back, proceed as planned before.”

With that, Boromir turned around and descended from the battlement. All around him, across the Courtyard of the Eastern Gate, men at arms were running errands and passing weapons necessary to keep the barricades manned and supplied, and fend off the pathetic orcish assault at the walls. Boromir crossed the Courtyard and entered a small supply station fashioned in a nearby ruined building, feeling tiredness almost overwhelm him, hoping that a glass of water would clear his head. Once his eyes adjusted to the dimmnes of the storeroom, a movement in one of the corners caught his eye.

“Huor!” he thundered. “How am I to defend this City, if even my own Squire ignores my explicit commands?”

Huor came out of the shadow and straightened. The boy was trembling, but his fists were tightened and his mouth set in a determined line.

“I would not leave you, Lord,” he said simply. Boromir opened his mouth to argue, but then he heard another person enter the supply storage.

“Do not be hard on him, brother,” said Faramir. “You would have done the same in his position. He won’t leave you alone, and neither will I.”

Boromir sat down on one of the wooden benches and sighed deeply. Huor handed him a glass of water, which he downed hastily. Faramir was right. His soldiers, his lieutenants, his brother and even his young Squire, still a child on all accounts, they would not abandon him, even in the face of death. And what am I doing? Cowering in a storeroom, wasting our precious time with my indecision. Some general am I, he chided himself bitterly.

Faramir must have gleaned some of Boromir’s thoughts in that moment, for he sat on the bench beside him, and put his hand on Boromir’s shoulder.

Boromir looked to his brother.

“You’ve nearly ran into the Harad army with your Rangers, during your retreat,” he said. “We’ve watched your progress from the Eastern Watchtower, they were right behind you. Have you managed to get a closer look? Can you tell me aught about them?” he inquired, hoping that Faramir could give him something, some piece of information, anything, that could yet save this day.

“Aye,” said Faramir. “This is why I am so eager to flee, though you might call it cowardice, and you would be right. There is something evil about that army, Boromir. I am telling you! I’ve fought many Southrons over the past years, but none like those. The sheer terror they inspired when we looked upon them over our shoulders… Then there is the mystery of their sudden arrival…” Faramir shuddered. “We cannot face them.”

“We must,” said Boromir tersely, “today, or tomorrow, it hardly seems to matter.”

Faramir sighed, and hesitated, before speaking again.

“I had a dream last night, before I set off to the Ranger’s Camp,” he stated, and Boromir swallowed a groan that almost escaped him. Here we go again with the dreams, he thought. But Faramir spoke further. “It was full of pathos, and ominous, but it also carried hope. Hope for our Kingdom. I’ll tell you all about it later, but for now just…” Faramir halted his speech then, overcome with emotion.

“Hush, brother,” Boromir said and grasped Faramir’s hand. “Leave the nightly terrors for when we’re both safe and sound in the Citadel. For now let us both stay wide awake and not in the dreaming.”

Faramir shook his head.

“Let me finish, brother. Listen just this once,” he persisted. “I am sorry for putting pressure on you earlier. I do not pretend to know what we should do now, and I do not envy you the burden of command. But know this: whatever you decide, we will all stand by you. The entire army. You have always been there for me. Whatever trouble was upon me, you were always there to chase it away. And this time you will, too.”

Boromir felt the sting of tears in his eyes, to his shame and panic.

“I am not sure I can do it, brother,” he whispered, not even caring that young Huor might hear him. The Squire had been with him through thick and thin, he probably knew Boromir better than anyone at that point.

“You can,” Faramir said with conviction, his gentle touch upon Boromir’s shoulder steadying Boromir’s jumbled nerves. “And you will. You are Boromir of Gondor, and that is what you do. You save everyone.”

Boromir felt all the chaos and clamour in his head go quiet then, and instead his mind was illuminated with clarity.

“Of course! That’s it! You’re a genius, brother!” he exclaimed, feeling renewed vigour surge through his veins. “I am Boromir of Gondor. Indeed! I’m Boromir. Boromir! I have to act like Boromir! I have to do what Boromir did!”

Faramir blinked and regarded Boromir with his mouth agape, but then understanding dawned on his face.

“You mean to destroy the Bridge! Like the Steward Boromir of old!” he gasped.

It was a somewhat obscure piece of Gondorian lore, the tale of Steward Boromir I, who had defended Osgiliath against the Witch King of Angmar in the year 2475, and gotten wounded by a Morgul Blade. Although Boromir I had ultimately prevailed, he had made the hard decision to let the ancient stone Bridge fall, and with it, the splendid Dome of Stars. In fact, the entire Osgiliath had been ruined in the aftermath of that war, but at least MInas Tirith had been saved, and the Shadow had retreated to lie dormant for the next centuries. Boromir and Faramir had first heard this tale together, during one of their many history lessons in the Archives, supervised by their tutors and by the Steward himself.

“Think about it! ‘Tis our only chance!” Boromir explained frantically. “If they cannot pass through the Bridge, they cannot dismantle the barricades on the fords. We could retreat to the Western Bank and easily drive them away with archers. And then defend the fords for yet many months to come!”

Faramir looked only partially convinced.

“But the Bridge is made of solid timber,” he reasoned. We cannot dismantle it on time! And to burn it would take days.”

Boromir stood and started pacing the storage room, thinking and planning out loud, only half listening to his brother.

“The Bridge is supported by wooden beams,” he said. “If our pioneers start working on them now, they can be destroyed till noon, and then the Bridge will collapse into the Great River.”

“We do not have till noon, Boromir,” Faramir shook his head.

“Our soldiers must hold off the Haradrim,” Boromir said. There was no stopping him now. “I will lead them, and buy the men enough time.”

“It will be a bloodbath!” Faramir cautioned.

“Aye,” Boromir agreed. “We will pay with blood, but the day will be ours in the end,” he said, as he stepped out of the storage building. “Huor, to me! Everyone to me!” he bellowed at his lieutenants, who were still on the battlements, commanding the defence. They hastened to meet him upon hearing his call, but Boromir was already dictating orders to his Squire. “Now lad, you wanted to be of help, and you’ll get your wish. I’ve an important task for you! You will cross to the west side and find Master Zbylut. Tell him to wait for me on the riverbank near the Bridge, with two scores of his strongest pioneers, with axes, saws and hammers. The bigger the better!”

“Aye, Sir!” Huor smiled and saluted, infected with Boromir’s enthusiasm.

“Now, Huor, make no mistake! Once this duty is done, you are to go to Causeway Forts with our supply wagons. No tarrying this time! Is that clear?” Boromir emphasised. He would not have Huor’s death on his conscience. He could not look Hurin in the eyes if he did, as Huor was the Warden of the Keys’s only heir.

“Aye, Sir! I’ll go now, Sir!” he replied, and ran off with such energy that only the youth could muster, raising dust behind him.

“What is this commotion,” Angbor demanded, as he, Derufin, Aglahad and Hirgon trotted to where Boromir and Faramir were standing on the Courtyard of the Eastern Gate.

“Good tidings!” Boromir proclaimed. “The day may yet be saved. We are going to collapse the Bridge!” Here Boromir made a pause, to allow for the gasps and muffled curses of his surprised companions. “Yes, yes, shocking. But I’ve thought about it, and it’s the only way. How much time do we have?”

“They are not yet here, but approaching, Sir!” Hirgon reported. “I estimate the Haradrim will be upon us in about half an hour!”

“Good!” said Boromir, with more apparent bravado than he himself was feeling. But he had to buoy the men up for this plan to work. “Angbor! You have done an admirable job with our defence thus far. Think you the men can keep it up?”

“Aye! The 2nd Company will stand! I trained no cowards!” Angbor proclaimed proudly.

“Excellent!” Said Boromir. “You will receive reinforcements from the 1st Company. You will try to hold them outside for as long as you can. Groups of them are bound to get through, but pay them no heed and remain on the battlements with your men.”

“Aye, Captain-General!” Angbor saluted.

“Now for the light infantry,” Boromir continued. “Aglahad, station the pikemen just inside the gates and the breaches in the outer wall. Let them be the first to greet our friends from Mordor,” Boromir smirked viciously and Aglahad nodded. “I’ve heard that a spear to the throat means well met in Black Speech. Hirgon, lead your skirmishers to the Eastern Bank, and hide them in groups amongst the ruins. When enemy squadrons breach the outer wall, I want them engaged in fighting on the streets, away from the Bridge for as long as possible. Build a barricade on the Main Street if you have to.”

“Aye, Sir!” The old warrior Hirgon rubbed his hands with glee. “We will lure them into the narrow passages. They won’t know what hit them.” Hirgon was the best suited for this job, since the men knew and trusted him. He could navigate the labyrinth that was the crumbling City of Osgiliath.

“That’s the spirit!” Boromir commended. “Derufin,” he addressed his friend in turn, “single out your best marksmen. I want them on the Western Bridgetowers, covering the evacuation. Before the Bridge collapses, we will be retreating steadily, and we’ll get out as many as we can to the Western Bank. Know that defending the Bridge will be tricky; your archers will have to sift friend from foe and aim true.” Boromir looked straight in Derufin’s eyes to make sure the Captain understood the situation. Holding the Bridge would be crucial.

“Aye, Sir! From the Western Bank’s watchtowers my marksmen will have their pickings of anyone who attempts crossing,” Derufin assured him.

“Yes, that is our plan exactly!” said Boromir, glad they had an understanding. “The rest of your shortbows you will station on the roofs on the Eastern side, to aid the infantry. And the longbowmen will man the wall and fire at the enemy troops outside.”

When all of his lieutenants mumbled their assent, the men stood in silence for a few short moments, pondering the magnitude of what they were about to attempt. So many things could go wrong in this plan. But thinking about what could go wrong would accomplish nothing at this point. They had to do it or die trying.

Boromir addressed his brother again, then.

“Faramir, I want your Rangers guarding the Bridge and the working pioneers. When the Bridge collapses, friend and foe alike might fall into the River. Some may be injured during the fall. I want your men to finish off the enemy warriors, and fish out any survivors on our side. The Rangers are best suited to such tasks.”

“Indeed,” said Faramir. “My man Damrod will see it done.”

“What? You will not lead them?” Boromir was surprised. His brother was well known across Gondor for the close bond of comaraderie he shared with the Rangers under his command. And, Boromir was hoping that by assigning his brother a task on the Western Bank he could keep him out of harm’s way.

“And leave you to fend for yourself, and likely get yourself killed by risking your neck stupidly?” Faramir asked. “I think not.”

“Aye,” said Derufin. “I’m coming with you, too. When you feel an arrow graze your ear and strike through your enemy’s pupil, it will be me having your back.”

“Very well, then,” Boromir agreed with a sigh. “But first we must go to the Eastern Side and give orders to the troops, while Angbor holds the gate.”

With that, Boromir and his officers were off, leaving the Lamedonian in charge of the heavy infantry on the barricades. As they jogged along the Main Street to reach the Bridge, Boromir once again addressed Faramir.

“Brother, and where is Baron Hallas?” he asked.

Faramir raised his brows.

“You ordered him to lead his men and my Rangers to safety, and so that is what he did,” Faramir reported. “When we returned to the City, I left my horse with them and went to meet you, but Hallas rode off through the Bridge. They are like to be with the horses at the stables, now.”

Boromir thought about his plans. The heavy cavalry would have to ditch the horses and the lances, and go back to the Western Side again with swords and shields. We’ll need every man on the defence line to give the pioneers more time with the Bridge, the thought. He decided then, that he would lead the Knights personally. It would be symbolic. The noble houses of Minas Tirith mounting one last defence of Osgiliath.

Once they crossed the Bridge, Boromir wasted no time to clue Master Zbylut and his pioneers in on the plan. The old master craftsman, who was in charge of the Gondorian division of pioneers: smiths, masons, and woodworkers, was already waiting on the riverbank, notified earlier by Huor.

“Where are your men?!” Boromir exclaimed. He’d specifically ordered Zbylut to bring a brigade of strong craftsmen and sufficient equipment.

“With permission, Lord General,” siad Zbylut, ever grumbly, “your Squire notified us of your plans. My men are already under the Bridge, setting up scaffoldings. The water around here is too deep to work without any levelling.”

“Good! Good that you’ve not delayed the work,” Bromir said, relieved. He trotted a few paces and crouched to see under the bridge better. The workers were setting pre-made wooden frames and ladders around the Bridge’s supporting beams. “Zbylut, I am about to demand the near impossible from your craftsmen,” he said, as he looked again at the old Master. Zbylut was currently the oldest member of Gondor’s army, completely bald with white beard that he kept short. “I want you to weaken the beams so that they barely hold, and then, on my signal, I want the whole bridge to fall in one swoop. Think you that could be arranged?” Boromir asked, worriedly. When Zbylut said nothing for a longer while, Boromir grew anxious. “I know it’s a lot, but I want to make sure we rescue as many men as we can, and only once Enemy troops start crossing the Bridge do we want it to collapse.”

Zbylut waved his hand impatiently.

“Aye, Aye, Lord General, I hear you!” he grumbled. “I’m thinking. I cannot guarantee it, but we could attempt it. But we’ll need horses. We could weaken the beams in a few places, and then girdle them with ropes attached to the horses. Then once you give the signal, the horses will start and tug at the beams, break and topple them. It’s risky and there is no assurance the Bridge will fall when you mean it too. I only hope it won’t break prematurely and bury my workers.”

“Do not think I don’t appreciate what you’re doing here, Zbylut,” said Boromir. “If we get out of here alive, you’ll be hailed as heroes of this battle.”

Zbylut laughed.

“That would be a first, Lord! My men are used to working backstage,” he chuckled. “But they will appreciate a few casks of ale once the job is done.”

“Aye, you’ll get that. And the horses,” said Boromir. “I’ll go to get them now.”

“Wait, General, Sir!” Zbylut halted Boromir, who was about to leave in search of the Knights. “What will be the signal to collapse the Bridge?” he asked. Boromir thought. He planned to be fighting on the front line. The warriors on the eastern side could very well get overwhelmed. If the Enemy passed their defences and got to the Bridge, they would have to collapse it no matter who was left on the Eastern Bank. The marauders and the last line defenders would have to be sacrificed. And he needed some means to give the order no matter where he was on the battlefield at any given moment…

“The Horn,” he said to Zbylut simply. “Listen for the Horn of Gondor.”

With that, Boromir left the pioneers to their fate and directed his steps towards the Western Gate and its nearby stables. It was unfortunate that, due to his original strategy of making the entire City their battleground, he had to cross the entire length of old Osgiliath to gather all of his dispersed men, but it could not be helped. He needed his knights. All around him, the men were abandoning their earlier post and gathering under the command of Aglahad and Hirgon.

Fate had it that he did not have to go all the way to the Western gate to fetch the Knights. No sooner than he’d made it to hundred yards along Main Street, did they emerge from behind a turn, armed with broadswords and shields. Their march in full plate generated much clamour, and Boromir smiled at their sight. They were exactly what he needed. An elite team of a dozen or so noble Men of Gondor, armed to their teeth. Baron Hallas led them, brandishing a drawn longsword that was almost taller than he.

“Captain-General! Hail!” Hallas greeted. “We have delivered the Rangers and our horses to safety, as you commanded.”

“Aye! That was a well done sally, if I ever saw one, Hallas!” Boromir agreed.

“And now we are marching on to our death,” said Hallas cheerfully. “We’ve seen the Southrons. It’ll be an honour to die under your command, Lord Boromir. We’ll take as many foes with us as the Valar permit!”

“Do not be so eager to die, Hallas,” said Boromir, wincing inwardly. An hour ago he’d had a similar talk with Derufin, only then he'd been the one ready to meet his end. “We may yet get away with our necks intact. I mean to evacuate the Western Bank and destroy the Bridge before the Southrons can cross.”

Hallas uttered a colourful curse.

“You’re a clever one, General,” he chuckled. “Bordering on insane, but clever.” Boromir grimaced. Hallas was known for his sharp tongue, even towards his superiors. He let the remark slide and instead addressed the Knights. They were mostly sons of Gondorian nobility, some heirs, some spares, and some landless, who dedicated their time and skill to the service of the Steward. They were Boromir’s, he knew all of them by name, and could now recognize them by the colours and banners on their surcoats and cloaks. He knew their parents, their wives and their children. But it would have taken take too long to address each of them personally, so he spoke out loudly to the entire company.

“Hark ye! We are the noble Men of Gondor!” Boromir bellowed for everyone to hear. “We have led our men here to fight for our Homeland, and ours is the duty now to protect them! We will not abandon our soldiers to the Enemy! We are true Knights! We march East and we do not rest until the last of our men is delivered to safety! Who is with me?”

Loud cheers and voices of assent answered him, not only from the Knights but also from other men at arms gathering around on the Main Street. Boromir reached out and signalled two young men from the 3rd Company. He did not know them by names, but they certainly knew him, because they saluted instantly.

“Men, I entrust you with a special task. Go back to the stables and lead all the horses to the Bridge, to Master Zbylut. Do not stop until all of the horses are at the riverbank. You mustn't fail me” he ordered, before turning once again to the Knights. “Right! Now, we FIGHT! GONDOR!” he called, as he unsheathed his broadsword and started running towards the Bridge.

The Knights at his back did the same, and soon their whole team was crossing the Bridge, chanting Gondor! Gondor! From the corner of his eye, Boromir saw Zbylut saluting, and he knew that the team of pioneers was already working on the beams under the Bridge. Hurry up, lads! he thought. Everything depends upon you. We’re just off to buy you some precious time!

As they crossed the Bridge and entered the Eastern Bank, Boromir could see that the first mixed bands of both Haradrim and orcs had already breached the City’s outer defences. Hirgon’s men were fighting on the streets, and arrows were flying in all directions.

Boromir uttered a war cry and dived into the nearest narrow ruined street, joining the skirmish. Other Knights followed in his steps, reinforcing Hirgon’s small fighting teams. A knight in full plate on the field of battle was no small thing. The armour was heavy, expensive and constricted movement, but it also meant the warrior inside it could take heavy punishment during the assault. And Boromir knew how to take a beating. He would engage the orcs, shielding himself and the nearby men-at-arms from their blows, while the pikemen would skewer the foes from the flank. Occasionally Boromir would execute a flashy move with his broadsword, usually felling a foe or two and earning a cheer from the soldiers.

Slowly the company of Knights fought their way further and further East, though the number of enemies did not seem to lessen. More and more Haradrim were coming through. Boromir wasn’t particularly experienced with the Southrons, that would be Faramir’s province. Their fighting style was distinct from western sword art. They relied neither on strength, nor quickness of movement, but rather on precisely learned and exercised technique. They seemed to be able to parry each of his blows with little effort and without any hurry. Moreover, they came equipped with long, viciously sharp stilettos, that they would use mercilessly on armoured knights, whenever occasion arose. Boromir witnessed two of Hallas’ knights, Ciryon, and later young Hador of Halifirien, fall in the battle from well measured thrusts of such daggers - the Haradrim struck between the plates of the armour or aimed for the neck. Gondor’s finest slashed open like cattle, he thought with terror.

Only after Boromir caught the gist of Haradrim battle choreography did the fighting become any easier. Unfortunately, with time more and more of them would come through, and keeping them away from the Bridge was becoming harder and harder. Boromir and the Knights managed to fight through the entire Eastern Side, and now were approaching the Courtyard of the Eastern Gate, where the skirmish was particularly frantic.

Soon Boromir found himself having to engage with several foes at once. A quick look around confirmed that the other knights were getting similarly overwhelmed. Moreover, Boromir was starting to feel something of that feeling of hopelessness and bone-chilling anxiety, which Faramir had mentioned earlier. Is this some enemy’s magic? Or am I getting mad? He looked around. Other men under his command seemed to be faring no better, judging by their pale, sunken faces, and increasingly sluggish movements. Mayhaps we are all of us simply tired, he tried to reason with himself, but the sense of foreboding remained with him, sapping his strength. It felt like hours since he had joined the fighting.

Boromir was parrying well-measured slashes of steel delivered by two Southern fighters, and had the morose thoughts additionally occupying his attention, so when another enemy came for his head from his right flank, he noticed it too late. He saw the blade being raised, saw the Harad Man prepare the strike, but knew immediately he wouldn't be able to parry it on time. He prepared to take the blow, hoping it wouldn’t be fatal... but then the enemy jerked and fell, an arrow with green fletching sticking from his neck. The other two Haradrim uttered cries of shock seeing their comrade collapse, and another arrow went through the open mouth of one of them, killing him instantly. Boromir had the presence of mind to use the moment of confusion and slash open the third Southerner with his sword.

Having a momentary respite from oncoming attacks, he looked around to spy Derufin, and sure enough, his friend jumped off the nearby half-collapsed building.

“That was a close call! My reflexes are dulling,” he called out to the archer, raising his shield to catch an orcish arrow aimed at his heart. “Many thanks for saving my neck.”

“Do not thank me yet,” Derufin called back. “You’re not going to like this!” He then made a brief pause to fire another arrow at one of the orcs who were pestering Baron Hallas a few paces to the left. “The Haradrim are assaulting the Eastern Gate. They have some sort of a ramming device. We need to commence the retreat!”

“We don’t know if Zbytlut’s Men are ready!” This was a tough choice. If he tarried with the evacuation, the men would be slaughtered. It was only a matter of time, because they didn’t have enough force to face the army, sooner or later they’d be overwhelmed. On the other hand, if he signalled retreat too early, then Mordor’s fighters would follow them uninterrupted. If enough passed the Bridge, they could bring the fighting to the other side and threaten the entire plan.

“We need to at least pull back Angbor’s men off the battlements! The outer wall is lost as is!” Derufin cried. To that Boromir had to agree. There was no sense in manning the wall if the Gate was about to be rammed open.

They both looked to the battlement above the Gate, where Angbor was running frantically and bellowing commands. With a start, Boromir noticed that the Lamedonian was wounded - a short arrow was sticking from his arm, although he seemed to be paying it no mind. Boromir knew this kind of battle frenzy well. It made one numb to all injuries, which could lead to fatal mistakes.

“I’ll get his attention,” said Derufin and fired before Boromir could react. An arrow with green fletching embedded itself in a wooden beam that was supporting the parapet, mere inches from Angbor’s shoulder. The warrior looked to the direction the arrow was fired from, and spotted Boromir and Derufin. Boromir gave the signal then, and the first phase of their retreat began.

When the heavy infantry and longbowmen came down from the walls and joined the commotion on the courtyard, Boromir called out to Angbor and the nearest fighters.

“The Knights will hold the line! The rest of you get behind and start retreating! Steady! In order! But keep up the fighting!” He knew other officers would pass the command. He had to focus on holding the line, to give others a chance at retreat.

“Keep that shield up like we practised,” Derufin’s voice came from behind Boromir’s back. Next thing Boromir heard was a whistle of an arrow next to his ear. They would sometimes fight like this, in a well coordinated duo; Boromir would be shielding the two of them and hacking at any foes closing in, and Derufin would be firing from behind Boromir’s back, keeping the enemies at bay. One of these days he’ll put an arrow through my skull, Boromir thought with amusement. He hoped it wouldn’t be this day, because he still had work to do.

The Knights listened to Boromir’s command and aligned in a formation, serving as a barrier between the foes that were coming through the walls. As was, the way still wasn’t completely open to the Enemy, even when Angbor’s men retreated, because they still had to scale the walls and the barricades with their ladders. But that would soon change, when the Gate would be breached.

As if on command a horrible thunder shook the ground and the Gate trembled. It was made of reinforced timber, and barricaded from the inside with debris. Boromir wondered how long it would take to ram it open. Not long, judging from the loud cheering of orcs and Haradrim alike. They were waiting for the Gate to give way, and it would happen soon.

“We’re backing away from the Gate!” Boromir bellowed to the rest of the Knights. “Keep up the fight!”

Slowly, facing the East, they made their retreat towards the Bridge. Boromir had no time to turn back and check how the evacuation was going, but he hoped Angbor had it under control.

Another thunderous ram ripped the air. Boromir’s ears ached as he saw the debris barricading the Gate from the inside move a little under the impact. New vigour seemed to surge into the Haradrim. Buoyed by the battering ram’s sounds they attacked the line of Knights with double force, thrusting viciously with their stilettos. Boromir saw three more Knights fall. Farewell brothers ! Arthael of Minas Tirith , Milancar the Younger, and Hirgon the Red Face, Boromir spared a moment to remember their names, momentarily overcome with grief and terror. And he would have joined them very nearly; a Southern stiletto was about to collide with his neck, but another short blade that deflected its course.

“Hello, brother” Faramir panted. “Hogging all the glory to yourself once again?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Boromir replied, as he regained his bearings and started parrying the Southron’s frantic blows with his shield.

Faramir lunged from behind Boromir’s back and slashed the Southron’s stomach open with hisblade. This was Faramir’s preferred style during combat, one he’s learned among the Rangers: he wielded dual short swords, moved quietly and defended himself with evasion. The Southrons, who preferred light armour to heavy plate, were easy targets for his blades.

“I bring good tidings,” Faramir grunted in between his strikes. “Work under the Bridge is done.”

Boromir smiled viciously. The fight was almost over.

“This is our last stand, then, brother,” he said to Faramir, and then he shouted commands to his men. “Companies! Abandon fight and run! Save yourselves!” He heard Angbor echo his command behind his back. “Knights! Tighten the line! We hold them off as long as we can! Retreat steadily!”

Boromir felt his muscles burn with exertion, as he pushed himself to his limits. From the corner of his eye he saw another of the Knights, Ser Rennor, fall from a dagger to his neck. There remained a couple dozens of yards between them and the Bridge. Their men were running to the other side. The Knights were holding off the Haradrim horde, retreating slowly, but also dying under Southern blades one by one. To his left, Paranion of Lamedon, Angbor’s compatriot, fell from an arrow through his eye, and a group of Southrons ran over his body, giving chase to the retreating troops. Whatever foe breached their line, Boromir hoped would be stopped by Derufin’s archers patrolling the Bridge. To his right, he saw Ser Angbor join their last stand.

“The men are safe! It’s time we passed the Bridge ourselves!” Angbor shouted. They were almost upon the Bridge, but they had to keep up the fight, for fear the Enemy would pursue and strike at their backs if they turned away and ran.

“Hallas! No!” Faramir cried, and Boromir saw the Baron topple to the ground. Only three other Knights, beside Boromir, Faramir, Derufin and Angbor remained standing and holding the front line. They were slashing their swords and ramming their shields like madmen, to keep the Haradrim front at bay. Backing away slowly they reached the Bridge at last. Boromir saw another Knight, Ser Seidon fall, in the same moment as he felt an arrow pierce his thigh. He cursed, but kept his balance. The wound hurt like the fires of Angband.

Now would come the tricky part. They had to retreat through the Bridge, while fighting, and only signal Zbylut once they reached the other side, hoping that the horde of the Enemy would fall with the Bridge.

KABOOOOOOOOOM!

Boromir looked up and saw his fears confirmed in the distance: the Eastern Gate’s wings were rammed wide open. But then something unexpected happened. The Southrons ceased their assault and their horde parted to the sides, leaving a clear passage. Boromir and his comrades were left alone, in the middle of the Bridge.

Suddenly, seemingly out of thin air and shadow, a blood-chilling vision materialised before him.

Nine black horses with frothing mouths and eyes of red madness. And upon them Nine Riders in black hooded capes, their bodies seemingly made of foul shadows. The Riders were charging at them from the Gate with insane speed.

Boromir knew he had to move, but he found himself paralyzed with fear. The sheer hopelessness and terror that the Riders awakened in his heart… He’s never felt like that in his life. In that moment he fully comprehended the enemy’s might. Mordor had the power to smother all hope, and that, to Boromir, seemed worse than all the Haradrim armies in the world. There was no chance for Gondor, no matter the outcome of this battle, his country was lost. The Enemy would prevail.

Then he heard his brother’s fearful sob, and that sound sobered him a little. It was ever his most important task to keep his brother out of harm’s way, and this time was no different. Even if everything else was lost, Faramir was still breathing. The Riders would reach the Bridge in a few moments, and he had to use those moments well, for Faramir’s sake. He dropped his sword and shield, inhaled frantically, and blew the Horn of Gondor with all the might left in his lungs. Whips snapped loudly, Zbylut’s horses moved at once and Boromir felt the entire Bridge shift and shake, in the very same moment that the Riders reached it at last. Boromir did the only thing he could think of: he pushed Derufin over the Bridge’s railing, grabbed Faramir’s arm and jumped.

His stomach made a salto as he fell a dozen feet and hit the water. He felt more than saw the Bridge collapse into the River, and the resulting wave of water slammed into his body and submerged him. He didn’t know if the Black Riders made it through or not. He lost his grip on Faramir, too. Valar, let my little brother be safe, he prayed, as he fought to reach the water’s surface.

Then he felt something heavy hit his head and the world went black.

To be (likely) continued...

Header image gifted by @quillofspirit. Thank you! <3

#lotr #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #boromir fanfiction #boromir #faramir #derufin of morthond #angbor of lamedon #osgiliath #osgiliath bridge #defense of osgiliath #ass deep in demons #[arda]#[wandering birds]

37 notes · View notes

meluiloth · 5 months

Text

LOTR Week Day 5: Gríma

LOTR20 Day 5: Loss . Sacrifice . Despair

Summary: Gríma Wormtongue reflects on his decisions. 704 words

“Why must I continue to tolerate your incompetence, Wormtongue?” Saruman spat, pressing his talon-like fingers to his temple as though the very presence of his servant was bringing on a headache.

The object of his fury—a small, hunched man with pale green eyes—was skulking against the wall. His black robes and hair blended seamlessly with the obsidian walls behind him; he would have been completely invisible if not for his ash-white face. He remained silent as the insult was hurled at him, so the only sound that disturbed the silence was the steady, agitated footsteps of his master as he paced the room.

“The day you have outlived your usefulness will be a joyful one indeed—and after the failure at Helm’s Deep, I believe it is drawing nearer and nearer,” continued the Wizard, throwing a dark look at Gríma, whose pale face betrayed no emotion save for an imperceptible tightening of his lips.

He had long since learned to withhold any arguments or sarcastic comments—or any comments at all besides sniveling and groveling at his master’s feet—so he contented himself with dreaming of Saruman sprawled dead somewhere, powerless and carrion-eaten. Then, it might be Gríma, not Saruman, who would hold lordship over Isengard.

“Why are you still here, Wormtongue?” barked Saruman, shattering Gríma’s thoughts. “Get out of my sight!”

Gríma did not need to be told twice—he was only too eager to remove himself from the Wizard’s presence. He scuttled from the chamber and began descending the steps, making his way to his own room.

On the way he passed a pair of Orcs, who ignored him as they laughed and discussed their latest village raid. Gríma’s sensitive nose wrinkled as he caught the stench that trailed behind them and he walked a bit faster.

He couldn’t stand the creatures; their smell alone, sour and putrid, was enough to paralyze a man even before he saw their grotesque faces.

Actually, he couldn’t stand the whole tower, with its bleak, morose silence and equally suffocating darkness.

His mind drifted unbidden to Théoden’s halls, where fires crackled robustly and the long tables were always laden with lavish feasts, when Rohan was not covered by the clouds of a coming war.

Gríma had been Théoden’s advisor long before he became Saruman’s thrall. He even had friends, he remembered, in the soldiers and nobles of Rohan. Even Éowyn could stand his company in the days of old.

Éowyn—how beautiful she was still! Even as her world collapsed around her, she faced it with dignity and pride. How he wished she loved him. Saruman had promised that as the halls of Edoras darkened she would cling to him as a pillar of steadiness—but somehow, she shrank away from him in hatred.

He could not understand it.

Saruman had also promised him power, and money, and a kingdom of his own, but just as he had lost Éowyn, so the little influence and wealth he once had slipped away from him also. He was bitterly reminded of this as he sat down on his rickety bed and stared around the sparse, cramped room Saruman had forced him to live in.

All he had given up—all he had sacrificed—had come to nothing, it seemed.

Would things have been different if he had remained faithful to Théoden? The King had given Gríma the chance to ride with him… and what if he had accepted?

He saw a brief image of himself, on the black horse he had fled Rohan with—only, he was not alone. Surrounding him were other soldiers, and the King himself. He was not riding to Isengard to cringe behind Saruman, he was going to oppose him, strike him down, and be free of the Wizard forever.

“Wormtongue!”

The moment passed. Gríma was not riding with Théoden, he was in Isengard, still bound to Saruman.

“Wormtongue!” came the Wizard’s voice again, sharper this time.

Gríma licked his lips, muttering curses. How he hated that name!

Once again the derogatory title was repeated, followed by an oath to burn his blood from his body if he did not come at once. Gríma let out a long sigh and began to shuffle resignedly back up the stairs.

“I am coming, my lord.”

A more interesting story tonight, featuring a character very much less heroic than my other ones! This story is actually one I wrote a while back (is that cheating?), but I still really like it and I think it fits this prompt.

Just a slight aside: I am in no way a Wormtongue apologist, nor do I seek to paint him in a more sympathetic light. I simply find it interesting to delve into the mind of a man who embraced being twisted and vile, and yet still saw himself as the victim in all this. He could very well have made different choices in many different points of the story... he just rejected the good every time and fell further into despair. I think it's sad and despicable.

taglist:

@lotr20, @lanthanum12, @frodothefair, @konartiste, @nimbusnight28174, @kylobith, @acornsandoaktrees

#lord of the rings #lotrweek #lotr20 #my writing #fanfic #grima wormtongue #saruman #fandom event

35 notes · View notes

popiellart · 5 months

Note

Hello!! I don’t know if you take OC asks but I keep thinking of your big dragon durge and thinking. Did he live outside of the temple like the canon suggests before coming to the temple as an adult? What was his life like before that? I remember seeing an art with Sceleritas Fel where he was an awkward teen, did he have a family and was he sweet once?

thank you, that's a fun question!! :D answer under the cut, cause long

yep, he had a foster family as a child, his foster father was a butcher (hehe. wink wink. etc.), somewhat impoverished, but generally loving. (he had another name than 'the dark urge' back then, but forgot what it was even before the lobotomy)

he was a surprisingly sweet child. giving off the 'well-socialized as a puppy' energy, you wouldn't pick him out of the gaggle of kids he was running around with, other than maybe visually (dragonborn are fairly rare, and he's noticeably pitch black from nose to tail, so he stood out a little)

the most violent thing he ever did was lightly nipping a half-orc girl when they got into an argument who's gonna be sarevok and who's gonna be jaheira when they played (he wanted to be jaheira!! and the girl looked nothing like jaheira either!!). didn't even draw blood

well, other than the wholesale slaughter of his foster family, of course. that's where his backstory diverges from canon - in canon, durge is left on their own until adulthood, but he was taken to temple immediately, hence the art you mentioned.

playing around with the 'why', but i'm thinking maybe this was malevolent on part of the other branch of the happy bhaalspawn family - sarevok telling orin to watch the pup, and to bring him in as soon as the first urge happens, hoping that the kid will just break down from the shock of murder and immediately meeting the cult of bhaal, and. well. the problem will hopefully remove itself

Which almost worked, words cannot describe how much the sweet, generally normal kid that he was, was utterly unprepared for the murder cult shit. he wasn't eating, he was scared shitless of his divine father, he was scared of the cultists, he felt sorry for all the victims, he was disgusted at all the rituals, Orin was tormenting him on the daily, he hated Sceleritas, and blamed himself for the murder of his parents, he prayed to Bahamut to send paladins to kill everyone and take him away or maybe kill him, too.

But since Bahamut couldn't be arsed and no legendary heroes dropped by the Temple, he ultimately came to a point where he had to make a yes-no type of choice, and he chose to survive. Knowing that he's destined to be the world-devouring antichrist, and his death would probably marginally improve the world, he still chose to live. Because, to be fair, what has the world done for him so far? His family is dead, and he's trapped in a sewer with a bunch of freaks. Maybe if gods didn't want the world destroyed, they should've done something back when he was still sweet, still redeemable, right?

(in that way, he's a parallel to gortash, who also has very little reason to feel fondness for the forces of good in the world - where were forces of good when a little boy was getting sold to a devil, yeah?)

Eventually, with time, he went from just surviving to living, slowly started getting a taste for the Bhaalist specials - hard not to, lots of positive reinforcement from murderous ecstasies, being constantly amongst the brainwashed cultits, it skews your view of the world.

Sceleritas was sorta helpful there, he hated the little thing so much he eventually snapped and killed it, and found out Sceleritas actually makes a great chew-toy, and with time his hatred twisted itself into sort of fondness.

By the time he was a full grown adult in the prime of his life, he basically forgot all about his childhood and even the early days in the Temple; he had the whole Dark Urge thing on lock, the victims were just meat, the cultists were in his sway, the previous cult leader was eaten, Orin was sat the fuck down, the only thing that lingered from those early day was the he never really stopped being scared shitless of Bhaal, although he long rationalized it away as simply part of worship and natural part of father-son relationship besides

#bg3 spoilers #tl;dr yes he was sweet once. but it was a long time ago

21 notes · View notes

quicksilverdrabbles · 1 year

Text

Team Dragonborn: *walking down a road near the river in Whiterun*

Lucien: You know, Dwarven Oil is known to have some very good regenerative properties to magicka if you ever decide to make some Magicka potions of your own. We can try to see if we can find any the next time we're in a dwarven ruin.

Morana: That would be nice. There are alot of spellswords among us now, I could distribute them to you and the others.

Lucien: Oh, how generous!

Inigo: *squinting at the words and drawings in the sign language book Lucien gave him* Lucien, I do not think these gestures are accurate to what Morana is saying.

Lucien: How is that?

Inigo: The book says she just called you a very rude word.

Morana: *shakes her head* I didn't.

Lucien: Oh dear.. That was the only book on Imperial Sign Language I could find in the Arcanaeum. I'll have to tell Urag it's incorrect... *blinks, remembering how frightening the Orc is* ... Ahaa.. or, uh. Someone else can tell him.

Taliesin: That 'library' is a joke. Half of the books there are ones you could find in an average general goods store, and the other half is just pure nonsense. Only very rarely do we actually find anything of use.

Kaidan: And that's only after we get the book back from whatever dungeon it's ended up in.

Xelzaz: I'm of a mind to agree.

Lucien: It's... Certainly different compared to the libraries in the Imperial City.

Morana: Urag is very nice. He's patient when we can't find anything we need and have to ask for more... *her hands slow to a stop, her gaze fixed on the river*

Xelzaz: Hm? Is something wrong, Morana?

Morana: *suddenly bolts away from the group, ditching her satchel and notebook and using a wind spell to jump halfway across the river and catch something in her hands midair, plunging into the water shortly after*

Kaidan: MORANA?!

Taliesin: What the hell is she doing?!

Xelzaz: *runs after her, wading into the water and going under to see where she went*

Morana: *tilts her head, spotting Xelzaz in the water. Her hands stay clutched around whatever she was holding as she attempts to swim back to shallow water*

Xelzaz: Oh, for the love of.. *swims forward and grabs the back of her armor, pulling her back to shore and emerging from underwater* What in the world were you thinking?!

Morana: *her hood and mask comes undone as she pops her head out of the water, revealing a bright smile.* Xelzaz, look! *holds out her hand and reveals a blue dartwing dragonfly, now dead* I haven't been able to find any in ages! We can make more Fear poisons now!

Xelzaz: Surely there were more ingredients with Fear properties available to you?! And stop using your voice, you're still healing from the last time!

Morana: *pouts, finding her satchel on the shore and putting the dragonfly in it for later* I have Namira's Rot, but we haven't encountered a Daedra for Daedra Hearts in weeks and Powdered Mammoth Tusk is hard to come by. And I'm horrible at fishing, I can't get Cryodilic Spadetails.

Inigo: My friend, your mask has fallen off.

Morana: Ah! *looks around, trying to feel through the water for it*

Xelzaz: I'll find it, you go back to the others and dry off before you catch a cold.

Morana: Thank you, Xel.

Xelzaz: Yes, yes, don't mention it.

Lucien: Oh goodness, you're completely soaked. All for one dragonfly?

Morana: I'm gonna go get the rest of them once they come back. I was excited and scared more off.

Inigo: Hehe, that was very funny to watch. I was tempted to jump in with you.

Lucien: And what on earth are you two doing?

Kaidan and Taliesin: *kneeling on the ground clutching their chests, overwhelmed by the sight of Morana's smile*

Kaidan: Fuck, that was so cute.

Taliesin: What can I do to see that again?

Morana: *tilts her head, a confused expression on her face. She snorts, breaking out into quiet giggles, lifting a hand up to try and hide her smile* You guys are silly.

Inigo: *staring at Kaidan and Taliesin, now laying on the ground with red faces* My friend, I think you are going to kill them at this rate.

#yes this is a regular occurence #Morana will just dart off from the group and come back with some random ingredient she saw #skyrim #tes #the elder scrolls #modded skyrim #dragonborn #ldb oc #skyrim oc #kaidan skyrim #lucien flavius #inigo skyrim #xelzaz skyrim #taliesin skyrim #Morana oc

56 notes · View notes

theladysherlock · 27 days

Note

talk shop tuesday! incredible coincidence - i wanted to ask you more about your dnd OCs, and you posted a new art piece with one of them! continuing the theme: could you tell more about your dnd OCs and how they came to be?

Ohhhh you have opened Pandora's Box my friend!! I could talk about this topic all day.

Basically there's two parts to this: my approach to DnD in general, and in-depth explanations of the characters. I'm going to put this under a Read More to save everyone's Dash.

Part One: Dungeons and Dragons

So the thing I love most about DnD (and other TTRPGs) is that it's a collaborative game. I'm not responsible for the entirety of the story, I bring my character to the table and everyone else brings their characters and between us, the DM, and the dice, we figure out where the story is going. I enjoy it so much more than trying to come up with everything on my own. And I love that people can surprise me!! @mothmansbigfatass and @ahawkmet (my irl friends and in most of the campaigns I play) can attest, apparently I'm a lot of fun to watch during revelations because I always have a big reaction.

So when making a dnd character, it's important for me to know 1. What the world we'll be playing in is like, and 2. What everyone else is doing. Again, it's a collaborative game, so I want to make sure that I'm playing nice with the DM's world. AND often the setting itself will give me an idea (see Ethan: the game is set at a community college. What's a college stereotype that would be fun to play?). Ideally, the character I make would have a really hard time being plopped into a different campaign and have it still make sense. Secondly, it's more fun for me to play a class that will fill out the party. For example, if we already have a cleric, I don't also need to play a religious character. Those story beats are covered by someone else, I don't want to be competing with another person for cool moments.

Once those two things are settled, character creation is determined by what seems fun to play and what would be interesting aesthetically. I like to keep the backstory light to see what happens as we start playing, and then I can fill it in bit by bit later. Sometimes that bites me in the ass, though (see Ethan: I didn't give him birth parents and then they were incredibly important to the plot). I tend to have a general idea about who they are and what they're like, and then I always get surprised by what they actually end up acting like once we start playing. It's fun for me to figure them out along the way!

The last thing I wanna say about DnD (for now) is that I love everyone else's characters just as much. I just draw mine more because, well, they're mine. I feel weird putting their guys in situations and guessing how they'd react because they aren't my little guys. I much prefer working collaboratively with the other players (like an RP thread) to just writing a story on my own.

Part Two: Ethan

Where to even start with my boy. A bunch of my work friends got together to start a DnD game, and I hadn't played with most of them before so I wasn't sure what to expect. I also did not think the game would last very long, since most campaigns tend to fizzle out after a few sessions. So I made kind of a joke character with extremely little backstory: He's a half-orc, since I hadn't played that race before, he's a bard who is the captain of the local community college's Improv Team, he's "the kind of guy to play wonderwall at a party but you're not mad about it", and I said he's adopted by two men, neither of whom were his biological parents, and he wasn't particularly interested in tracking down his bio parents. This last point is for two reasons: one, I was trying to avoid just duplicating a Dimension 20's Gorgug, a half-orc who was adopted by gnomes and spent the whole first season trying to find his dad; and two, I was pushing an "Adopted parents are not less than biological parents" agenda.

My DM took this personally (affectionate). First session, I was given a clue about his birth parents' identities. From then on, Ethan was dragged kicking and screaming into being the unofficial main character of the campaign. His mom was one of our favorite NPCs, a kickass pirate with a truly tragic backstory who would always jump to help us out of a scrape. His biological dad was the human embodiment of Pride who had took on the form of Fantasy Harrison Ford and was an extremely famous actor in-world. Our BBEG was his uncle, the embodiment of Greed. Every plot point became very personal and it was a lot of fun. I also loved putting him through the wringer, so between me and the DM the poor guy couldn't catch a break.

Part of the dice telling the story, I rolled so bad all the time when I played Ethan. It didn't matter which dice I used, I just rolled really bad, which was not something that normally happened with me. So that was fun to incorporate into his character as we played-- he was insecure about his own abilities compared to the extremely powerful characters he was surrounded by (we had a 20 ft Earth Titan who was an extremely powerful Druid, Emeshka you will always be famous). So he became a more three-dimensional and actualized character the more we played.

He's extremely easy to put in situations and his character design is pretty solid, so I end up drawing him the most. My perfect little guy.

(Anything about him I've tagged either "Ethan" or "Big Yarr Energy" if you want to find more)

Part Three: Mina

After the campaign with Ethan wrapped up, we started a new one in a Cthulhu-inspired setting. My goal with making Mina was to do as close to a 180 as I could from Ethan. While Ethan was a friendly and charming but bad at most things, Mina is a competent and intelligent Druid who's blunt and overworked and doesn't quite know how to meaningfully engage with her party members (but she tries, bless her). Druid was one of the classes I hadn't played yet and I've been making my way through the list of available classes. The One-With-Nature stuff isn't super interesting to me as a player, but I found a homebrew subclass that was based more in Big Cities and as an Architecture Nerd that was much more my speed. Also, I hadn't played an Aasimar before, so that seemed like fun. From all that, I pulled together her whole deal: She was from a bloodline of guardian angels who were sent to protect different villages and towns, and she's gone from her mother's small town to being the guardian of a city of several million people and it's overwhelming. She's lonely and she's jaded and she's got severe Gifted Kid Syndrome and she's got her head on a swivel to make sure her party members are okay even if they don't like her very much and I love her.

I didn't give her a lot of tragic backstory because there are a lot of us playing and I wanted to have a character who could push the plot forward with her actions, instead of having a "now let's stop and talk about my life!!" moment every session that seemed to happen with Ethan. Give everyone else some time to have cool moments, you know? And by GOD are there some cool moments. My fellow players are so good at making compelling characters. Ask @mothmansbigfatass about Nelly if you get a chance.

We're still playing this campaign, although we're nearing the end of it. There's still space for some big moments for Mina in the game, though I'm hoping our DM lets me save hers for last. She's the kind of character to make sure everyone else is okay before taking care of herself, so it feels appropriate. I'm excited to see where Mina ends up. She's definitely a character I'll go back and write/draw a lot afterwards, though. Part of being in a group this size means there's a lot of stuff that just won't get covered. I'll have a lot of material to play with for my own work once we get to the next campaign.

(Anything about Mina I've tagged either "Mina" or "Cthulhu Crimes" if you want to find more)

Part Four: Jess

Jess is a character that isn't from DnD but is a TTRPG character of mine, and I like her so I'm going to talk about her too. Jess is a cautionary tale in Knowing Your Audience.

Jess is from a different group of players than Ethan and Mina. Our DM for that game is notorious for wanting to give us Big, Shonen-Style fight scenes and an insane level of power creep. Character interactions are fine, but his true passion is making us look like Goku.

Jess was... not built to look like Goku. In this world you could identify different types of magic users by their focus, and I wanted her whole schtick to be about deception. She looked like a wizard when she was actually a monk, she looked like a dumb blonde girl when she was extremely smart and good at stealing things, she's a dancer but her primary fighting style was based on capoeira, etc. Also part of why Jess sticks with me as a favorite character is the way I had her powers work was so fun and visually interesting that I haven't been able to shake it. Basically her superpower was that she could snatch bits of other people's powers and use them herself, and you could tell which ones she had because they would fill out spectral stained glass wings with specific colors.

Jess was (and still is, frankly) too complicated for the game our DM wanted to run. Immediately any hope of her being a chronic liar was dashed as her powers did not manifest in a way that could possibly pass off as being a wizard. So instead of being sneaky, Jess became very angry. She was quick to point out injustices in the world we were in. She beat up creeps, she yelled at bigots, she stole powers from macho superheroes trying to one-up her. She had to get a lot less complicated for the story we were in, but the complicated version of her still lives in my head and I like to see what she's up to from time to time.

(I don't think I have anything tagged for Jess, unfortunately)

TL; DR:

TTRPG characters are fun because they let me do my favorite thing creatively, which is bounce ideas off of other people. I typically design them based on the setting, party needs, character tropes that I think are interesting, and just general vibes. Most importantly, though, I don't have a fleshed out character without the input of the other players.

#talk shop Tuesday #good LORD that's a lot of words #I'm incapable of shutting up it seems. ah well #I can tell more stories about them though. I should bring back the story times #I think the last one I posted was over a year ago #ANYWAY thank you for the ask!

9 notes · View notes